Vicissitude
by fanf1ct1onfanat1c
Summary: "I am capable of dangerous things, and it's terrifying me. Stiles, I am not sure of who I am anymore!" "You're my superhero-obsessed twin sister. The girl who always protects the people she loves, is annoyingly positive, and refuses to give up. You're the same girl who saved me when we were kids. You are Stella Stilinski, don't you ever forget that."
1. Wolf Moon

**I'm DISCLAIMER:**

Hey, guys!

I just wanted to make it clear **I DO NOT OWN** Teen Wolf, in any way. The characters, timeline, and anything else to do with the show is accredited to Jeff Davis and the other amazing writers. I watched one episode of Teen Wolf and was instantly  
/hooked. In the middle of one of the seasons, I got an idea for this story, and I have been writing it ever since.

The only claims I make are to Stella and her backstory.

 **P.S.** Thanks in advance for reading my story. I am always open to comments!

Love you all :)

 **Additional Authors Note:** _I am currently in the process of working out the kinks in this story! Every chapter I revise will have an author note at the end of it. This process shouldn't take long, as I want to get back to continuing this story ASAP. So, please stay with me here :) I promise it will be worth it._

* * *

 _"No! Please, stop!"_

 _Screams echo off the walls of my room, jolting me awake. As my eyes flash open, I hold tight to the comforter covering me, taking deep breaths to calm myself. My eyes search my bedroom for signs of something out of the ordinary. But, everything is just the same as it was before I fell asleep; the door leading to my shared bathroom is still cracked open, no light is streaming in from the hallway, and the ticking of the hands to my Avengers clock is the only noise to be heard. Maybe the screams I heard where part of a nightmare. It could have all been in my head._

 _"Don't do this-I-it's me!"_

 _Nope, not in my head. It sounds like it's coming from downstairs, and I know for sure it's my twin brother. Without hesitation, I throw my covers off me and quickly sprint from my room to the top of the stairs. Heart pounding against my ribcage, crazy scenarios of what might be happening flash through me with every beat. My father is the sheriff. Who would be insane enough to break into his home? Someone would have to be Joker crazy to believe they can get away with this._

 _Trying to be as stealthy as one can be, I tiptoe down the stairs. Though, it's becoming harder to be cautious as I hear more pain filled yells. I want to run to him, not caring about the noise, or who might down there. Stiles's is more than just my brother. He's my best friend, my other half. His misery hurts me too; it's tearing at me, stripping away my rationality. Who cares if I get injured? I need to save my brother._

 _Deciding to screw being careful, I bound down the stairs. Right as I reach the last one, an object an object drops from the ceiling, landing on my face and darkening the world around me. I find myself unable to contain the shrill scream that follows._

"Stella! Stella, it's just me. Wake up!"

Once again, I am jolted awake. But this time it's real, not a memory turned nightmare. It used to be a rare thing, having nightmares, but now they plague my nights. No matter how many times I have my infamous dream, one aspect still lingers when I wake  
theguilt. It's a parasite, feeding off my unresolved emotions, the sorry I never got to say. Maybe the regret is the reason that fateful night still haunts me, causing me to cry out in the darkness, only to wake up when someone wraps me in theirarms  
and whispers comforting words. Or maybe the haunting memory serves as a reminder of a time I failed my family. And how I can't ever let it happen again.

Grabbing hold of Stiles's shoulder's, I take a look at my alarm clock. One in the morning? Is he crazy? I may be thankful he woke me before the worst part of my nightmare happened, but I am not gracious for the interruption of my beauty sleep. We haveto  
be up in six hours; tomorrow is the first day of sophomore year. If I don't get my seven hours of sleep, I become a grouch. And considering my best friend, Isaac Lahey, is naturally a grump - a grump I drive to school every day - I need to be cheery  
/in the mornings to balance out our friendship. We can't both be Debby Downers.

"Stiles, please tell me you didn't come in here to discuss how you leveled up on your computer game," I groan, throwing myself back onto my pillow. His excitement sometimes goes off the rails, leading him to believe he needs to wake me up and tell me  
/of his accomplishments on his online game. Every time it happens I assure him I'm proud and also insist next time he waits for a reasonable hour to deliver the news. He has yet to listen to me.

Stiles ignores my comment as he leans off my bed to pick up my favorite red sweatshirt. I am assuming him throwing it at me is what woke me up. The question is, why is he throwing my clothes at me at one in the morning?

When my twin bounces up to grab a pair of my favorite dark-wash jeans from the clothing rack in my closet, I question his actions once again. "Uh, Stiles? What are you doing?"

"I think you mean what are we about to do?" He runs to his room, coming back seconds later with a flashlight and his cellphone. " _We_ are going to go pick up Scott, and then go to Beacon Hill Preserve. Dad found a body."

"We can sneak into the morgue any time. The first day of school is tomorrow, Stiles. I need sleep, so I don't show up looking like a zombie from the Walking Dead."

Stiles pelts a black beanie at my face. "No! We have to go now, Stella. The body is cut in two, and the deputies only found one of the halves. You, me, and Scott are going to find the other," Stiles starts towards the hallway, "Now, let's go!"

A body split in two? Here, in Beacon Hills? No way in Hel am I going to miss this. In my lifetime, I may never come across a more thrilling crime, not in this town. Beacon Hill doesn't have severe cases. Small robberies are considered most deviant here.

"Okay, I am coming. Wait for me!" I jump out of bed tugging my sweatshirt over my oversized nightshirt and then wiggle into my skinny jeans. Finding half a body is worth exhaustion I will feel tomorrow.

* * *

Freshly fallen leaves crunch under my black combat boots, while the slight breeze nips at my nose. Autumn is my favorite time of year. The days are warm and the nights have a chill to them. Also, fall brings out this smell in the air, a smell reminding  
/me of bonfires and s'mores. Being in the woods right now only enhances the delightful aroma.

"Are we seriously doing this," Scott complains, his voice coming out almost whiny.

Scott McCall is my brother without blood relation. In kindergarten, I told him he reminded me of a puppy dog with his wide brown eyes, shaggy hair, and a playful grin. Stiles insisted Scott ignore my random comments, that I often said whatever I was thinking.  
/But instead of being rude, Scott smiled at me and told me he dreamed of being a vet when he grew older. From that moment on we three have kind of been inseparable. Our parents aren't delighted by the trouble we often cause when together, but it's  
/too late to split us up now. We would find a way back to each other.

I turn around to walk to backward since the boys are slugging along ever so slowly behind me. "Scott, it's half of a body. We will never get the chance to find one of these again. Think about it. This stuff doesn't happen twice in a person's lifetime."

"Aren't you the one always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town? Besides, it's our last night of summer freedom," Stiles adds on, closing the large gap between the two of them and me.

"I was trying to get a good night's sleep for practice tomorrow," Scott retorts irritably.

Stiles and Scott were bench warmers all freshmen year. Technically, all of us got to sit on the bench together last year, considering the only way I could get out of taking gym was being an assistant coach for the lacrosse team. I love Scott and Stiles  
/to death, but they aren't star athletes. I am not saying they are terrible because they aren't. But, neither of them are poster kids for the sport. That is Jackson Whittemore's job.

"Right, because sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort," Stiles remarks, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, both of you have had all summer to practice. Who knows, you could make starting lineup this year! Or at the least be an alternative." Readjusting the beanie to cover my cold, little ears, I speed up my walking pace.

"I am with Stella. This year I am making starting lineup," Scott smiles. His expression is one of a child caught up in a daydream, his brown eyes shining with hope. It's a goal of his to be on the varsity team before we graduate. Coach only puts the best  
/players on; he doesn't care what grade you are on, if you have no talent you may not play a single game the entire four years you are in high school.

"That's the spirit. Everyone should have a dream. Even a pathetically unrealistic one." Stiles passes Scott and me, scurrying past us. He can be a real sarcastic turd at times.

"Just out of curiosity, which half of the body are we looking for?" Scott glances over at me for the answer. All I can do is shrug my shoulders. After Stiles told me our father found half of a dead body, I didn't ask any questions. I guess the amazement  
/of it got the best of me.

"Huh. I didn't even think about that," Stiles retorts, rubbing his chin.

"And what if whoever killed the girl is still out here?"

"Also something I didn't think about."

"Hey, getting chased by a murderer is a great excuse to miss the first day," I chime in.

"Stella, that's a twisted positive." Scott elbows my arm, letting out a chuckle. I grab onto him, moving my hands up and down his arm for some warmth. I should have grabbed gloves. "It's comforting to know you've planned this out with your usual attention  
/to detail, Stiles. Didn't we talk about letting Stella be the one to listen to the police scanner? She is better with details."

With an elongated breath, Scott pulls out of my grip to lean against a nearby tree. He's had asthma ever since I have known him, but it never keeps him from doing what he pleases. Scott's the kind of person who doesn't let anything get in his way, always  
/prevailing. I rub my hand against his back as he searches his pockets for his inhaler. Stiles doesn't even bother stopping for us, taking along the flashlight that is allowing us to be able to see.

"Maybe the severe asthmatic should be the one holding the flashlight," Scott calls after him, between huffs of breath.

I look past Stiles and notice up ahead there is yellow police tape blocking off an area of trees. It appears we have stumbled across the crime. "Guys, look up ahead," I point out the tape and Stiles grins with excitement.

Crouching low to the ground, I slowly walk/crawl towards a fallen tree, blocking me out of sight for any police officer that might still be on scene. Scott and Stiles take the spots next to me, all of us staring in different directions, our eyes searching  
/for a clear pathway past the crime scene. The sound of a zipper causes Stiles to get too excited. He lurches forward, no longer caring about being shielded by the huge tree. Somewhere nearby an officer is wheeling away half of a person, and my brother  
/wants to see that body.

"Stiles, wait up," Scott scream-whispers, but it's too late.

A barking dog approaches Stiles, it's hair standing straight up on it's back. Stiles stumbles backward, dropping the flashlight, seemingly frightened by the growling German Shepard. He goes to put his hands up, but he trips over the flashlight and falls  
/on his butt. Leave it Stiles to drag me out of bed in the middle of the night to find a dead body, and then be the reason we don't see it. Cursing him under my breath, I go to help. Any trouble Stiles get himself into, I will jump into as well. What  
/kind of twin would I be if I left him alone? Probably a smart one, but that's beside the point.

"You two, hold it right there!" A blinding light is pointed towards my face, and I shield my eyes from the brightness. Well if we weren't busted before, we for sure are now.

"Hold on, hold on, these two delinquents belong to me." Yup, we have been caught red-handed, and by none other than our dad. The light lowers to the ground, and I see my dad standing next to one of his deputies. He doesn't look the slightest bit surprised  
/to us out here.

"Stiles, do you listen to all of my police calls?" Dad asks as Stiles gets to his feet, dusting off his now dirt-covered pants. Crossing his arms over his chest, our dad's green eyes narrow into a glare. His signature straight-lined frown follows suit.

"No...Not the boring ones."

"And where's your other partner in crime?" Dad's question is directed to me as if I would snitch on Scott.

"Last time I checked Stiles, and I are only twins, not triplets. We don't have any other partner in crime," I reply matter-of-factly. Scott's mom, aka Mama McCall, would be less than thrilled if my father escorted Scott home at this hour. Most days she  
/pulls a double shift at the hospitals, and her rest is much needed. Beacon Hill's Hospital needs their best nurse at her peak performance.

"Scott might as well be your guy's triplet," our father mutters, shaking his head at Stiles and I. He has a point. We are always together, and when there's trouble, the three of us usually are present.

"Scott's home. Said he wanted to get a good night's sleep for the first day back to school," Stiles lies, pretty convincingly.

Dad looks back and forth from Stiles to me. I give him a tiny smile, hoping it sways him to believe we are telling the truth. My father lets out a sigh of defeat. "Young man, I can't believe you dragged your sister out here in the middle of the night.  
/You do remember school starts tomorrow, right?"

Stiles put his hands up in annoyance, muttering who knows what under his breathe. Our father is well aware Stiles is the plan maker, and I just blindly follow along. So, he likes to rile Stiles up by pretending to put the blame all on him every time we  
/get caught. For some reason, my brother still gets riled up by it.

"Dad, this was my idea," I say, keeping the joke going as we start towards his patrol car.

"No it wasn't, but you are just as guilty for going along with it," my dad chuckles, placing one hand on my shoulder and the other on Stiles.

"Yeah, you're right," I shrug.

"Really, Stella, really?" Stiles groans, giving me a glare for agreeing with our father. Stiles needs to calm down. It's not like dad is going to ground us, he's grown used to us causing trouble. If we don't take it too far, we always just get off with  
/a warning. Having a sheriff as your father has its perks.

Right before I tumble into the backseat of the police car, I look back towards the woods, an ominous feeling building inside of me. Something tells me this dead body may be the first of many. I shake my head, diving into the car. What am I thinking? Dead  
/bodies and Beacon Hills don't go hand and hand.

* * *

My hands run through my second-day curls as I stop at a red light a couple miles from school. Waking up this morning had been close to impossible. Thankfully my curls had held, letting me have an extra half hour of sleep. Every minute was appreciated.

The usual hum of my old, but beautiful pick-up truck fills the silence in my car. Isaac is not too chatty today, not that he ever really is. However, his mood is a smidge gloomier than usual. It's possible the pressure of lacrosse try-outs is weighing  
/on him.

"You ready for the start of a new school year?" I take a second to glance over at my best friend, Isaac. We were lab partners last year, and despite his best efforts, I basically forced him into the friendship we have now. Isaac is a quiet, reserved lacrosse  
/player. He stays out of the spotlight, keeping to himself most of the time. Well, that is when I am not making him put up with me.

"This year won't be any different than the last one. High school is all the same shit stuffed into four miserable years," Isaac says, breaking his quiet streak. His blue eyes don't move from whatever they are looking at, outside of the passenger window.

The light turns green, and I continue on the journey to Beacon Hills High. "You know, I think it's your constant positivity in life that makes my days brighter, Isaac. I mean gosh, you are just a ray of sunshine."

I can practically feel his eyes roll, something I cause him to do often. There are times, I am sure, that he wonders how we get along. Our personalities differ in many ways. To me, it explains how we are so close. We balance each other out. He turns my  
/head-in-the-clouds positivity into realistic terms. I shine some light on his dark thoughts. Together we speak fluent sarcasm. We are right for each other. Isaac may never voice the belief, but I know he feels the same.

"If I am lucky, maybe this year I won't get stuck in a class with you," he says with a slightly sarcastic tone.

"You couldn't get that lucky. Even if somehow you manage to not be in one of my classes, we will always see each other at lacrosse practice."

I put the car in park as I find a perfect parking spot. Not too close that I don't get a second to mentally prepare myself for my sophomore year of high school, and not too far that I am tempted to turn back around and drive home. No part of me is nervous;  
/I just don't feel like high school is for me. I get good grades and all, but I don't feel the drive to further my education past high school. Test scores are merely numbers written in red ink. Sure they make my dad proud, and the counselor gushes  
/to me about the many universities I qualify for early expectance with such high test numbers, but none it makes me feel accomplished.

Isaac stares over at me, waiting for me to make the first move at exc _iting_ the vehicle. His hands are fastened around the strap his backpack, a frown etched on his face. He hasn't stepped foot in the building, but I can tell he's already impatiently  
/waiting for the final bell to ring. Now is one of those times he needs me to lighten his mood.

"Isaac Lahey, high school is only a four-year path on the journey to our freedom. We have survived the first year, now let's go do the same with the second."

A small smile forms on his lips when I mention the part about freedom. Isaac wants nothing more than to be free of this little town. I may not understand that want, but I will do everything in my power to make sure one day he gets just that.

* * *

noshade=""

Isaac and I part ways when I spot Scott and Stiles on the front steps of the school. Isaac and Stiles aren't exactly friends. Their relationship, if you can say they have one at all, is complicated. Stiles doesn't grasp how I can be friends with someone  
/like Isaac and voices this opinion whenever given a chance. He finds it suspicious how Isaac keeps to himself, yet somehow likes to be around me, a pretty outgoing person. Isaac, on the other hand, simply ignores Stiles existence.

"Stella, I still don't trust that kid," Stiles comments when I approach the two, he glares my best friend down until Isaac is no longer in sight.

"Stiles, you wouldn't like the Earth-2 version of you. Or even you from the future, if somehow you get mixed into time traveling," I reply, choosing to pretend my brother isn't killing my best friend in his mind.

"I trust you, and you're the girl version of me." I wave off Stiles's remark and turn my attention to Scott, waiting for him to show us his wound.

Last night, Scott called saying something out of the ordinary had happened to him, he was attacked by an animal. He refused to come over so we could see the bite, telling us we could see it today at school. Naturally, I had a hard time sleeping after  
/he shared this tidbit. I wanted to check out the bite as bad as Stiles yearned to find that body last night. The only difference being I am more sensible when it comes to being patient.

"Alright, let's see it!" I observe as Scott lifts up his shirt and removes the gauze he had covering the bite. My lips part in surprise at how big the bite is. This animal did a number on him. The teeth marks take up one whole side of his abdomen, almost.  
/When Scott was describing his wound last night, I believed him to be embellishing the truth a wee bit. Apparently not.

"It was too dark to see much, but I'm pretty sure it was a wolf," Scott tells us, not all sounding shaken up by the experience. He marvels at his wound for a second, before hiding back under his dressings.

"A wolf bit you? No, not a chance," Stiles replies, crossing his arms, being the little know-it-all he sometimes is.

"I heard a wolf howling," Scott states.

"No, you didn't."

"What do you mean, no I didn't? How do you know what I heard?" Scott is getting visibly frustrated at Stiles disagreeing with every explanation he makes. Which, I too believe is annoying, but only because Stiles's not explaining why.

"What Stiles is failing to say, is that there haven't been wolves in California for over sixty years. Could it have been a big coyote?" I ask. I don't know the exact statistics for the number of coyotes around, but I am a hundred percent sure it's better  
/than the zero amount of wolves.

"Guys, it was a wolf! And if you don't believe me, then you definitely are not going to believe me when I tell you I found the other half of the body."

"Damn it! I should have let Stiles get caught by himself," I huff in disappointment. Now, I may never get the chance to come across half a human body. Lightning doesn't strike in the same place twice. Actually, it can, but that's beside the point.

"Oh, so that you could have gotten bitten too? Yeah, sounds totally worth it," Stiles sneers at me.

"I'm going to have nightmares for a month," Scott continues, ignoring the sister-brother bickering. His eyes closing for a second, his nose scrunching up in disgust.

"That's freaking awesome. This is seriously the best thing that's happened to this town since..." Stiles trails off, his eyes ogling at the beauty that is Lydia Martin. She strides towards the school, radiating confidence. She's a classic, popular girl  
/who believes she's better than everyone else. How she fits the archetype of the mean girl so perfectly beats me.

She grazes past us without sparing a single glance in our direction. Stiles's eyes follow her, her strawberry blonde hair blowing over her shoulder from the wind. What he would give for her to notice him, if even for a moment.

"Since...since the birth of Lydia Martin...Hey Lydia, how are you? You look...like you are going to ignore me."

I can't help but laugh at my younger, by five minutes, brother. "Are you ever going to give up on her?"

Stiles has pined over Lydia Martin since the third grade. I don't quite understand it considering no guy has ever held my attention for that long. Yet, somehow my brother is convinced one day his dream girl will notice him. Who knows, life can be funny.

"Did Clark Kent ever give up on Lois Lane?" Stiles responds, using my obsession with superheroes against me.

I push past him, shaking my head. "Don't ever compare yourself to Superman again."

* * *

 **This story idea has been resonating in my mind for so long. I decided it was time to type it out! I messed with some of the details of the story line (as you can tell from Stella being friends with Isaac). More things will be different in the future, but not to the point it strays too far from the plot line. Hope you enjoy reading! XXOO**

 **A/N (2)** : Revised! I am going back and redoing my early chapters, adding in details, and making the story better. At the end of all the newer chapter, I will write revised :)

Thanks for reading!


	2. First Day Back

ŁI firmly believe the first of school should be a half day. All the teachers do is hand out their syllabus's and then make us play icebreakers, as if everyone doesn't know everyone in this small town. By now, teachers have caught on that most students  
don't take the first day of the school year seriously. So, why keep us trapped in this place longer than needed?

"I'm telling you, there was a difference in the way he said our names versus the other kids," Stiles insists as he and Scott accompany me to my locker.

Reaching into my over-sized shoulder bag, I search for my cell phone. "It's all in your head, Stiles."

It was not in his head. Teachers talk, gossiping about the students who are hard to handle. I am almost entirely sure Stiles and I are on the teacher's secret list of 'students you hope you don't have in your class'. Between his ADHD and my lack of acknowledging  
when the best time to be quiet is, we are most teacher's worst nightmare. Oh well, as long as my grades don't parallel with their less than pleasant thoughts of me, I don't care.

Stopping at my locker, I glance over to see Scott gazing adoringly at the new girl, Allison Argent. From the time she walked into our first-period class until now, Scott's attention has been solely on her. I would say, for him, it's love at first sight,  
but I am unsure if the cliché exists. It's not hard to see why my brother from another mother is attracted to the town's newest member. Her chocolate brown locks hold the perfect curls, she has flawless skin, big hazel eyes, and a heart-shaped face  
that contains the friendliest smile.

"Looks like someone has a crush on the new girl," I tease as I shove my binder in my locker. Stiles stops his ranting over teachers, only now realizing the two of us aren't paying much attention anymore. His eyes drift over to the love of his life. Lydia  
Martin and her boyfriend, Jackson Whittemore, the school's star athlete, are approaching Allison. "Well, that didn't take long at all. Lydia Martin noticed her in seconds, and yet somehow, Stiles remains unseen. To think it's been years we have all  
gone to the same school."

Stiles glares at me before spewing out his excuse on why his crush since the third grade hasn't realized he exists, "Beautiful people do tend to herd together."

"What are you trying to say, Stiles?" Placing my hand over my heart, I pretend to be wounded by his words.

Stiles stutters over his explanation, not picking up on my sarcasm. "No!...I...you're my sister!"

"So, you're saying I am ugly because I am your sister? Considering we look alike, that means you are calling yourself ugly. Which may explain why Lydia hasn't introduced herself to either of us," I glance over at Lydia and her boyfriend, an amused smirk  
on my face.

Stiles, however, is unamused by my sarcasm. Shaking his head, he walks away from me without a wave goodbye. Scott doesn't even notice what's happened, still engrossed in his staring at Allison Argent. How has she not seen this lovesick puppy over here?

Wrapping my arms around my other brother's shoulder, I lean close to his ear. "You might not want to stare so hard, you're going to strain your eyes."

* * *

The first day of varsity lacrosse tryouts has officially begun. My over-adventurous positivity has me convinced this may be the year my three favorite boys get some playing time. Today and tomorrow, Coach will scrutinize every player's skill set, every  
detail going noticed. At the end of those two days, he takes my notes and the names of all the players who have tried out and decides who will obtain the coveted varsity positions.

"You have two days to impress me," Coach walks towards the boys, "Notice how I said me, not Stella and me, so don't try and flirt your way into her good graces. The girl doesn't need your harassment. I make the final say! So, do yourselves a favor and  
don't look even look at her. Keep your raging hormones to yourself!"

I roll my eyes at Coach thinking any of these boys could sucker me into helping them get a place on first line. Don't get me wrong there are boys on the team who I find attractive; they just aren't for me. Jackson Whittemore is insanely good-looking,  
with his distinct jaw line and clear blue eyes, but he's also a giant dick. Not to mention he won't need my help being considered one of the top choices for the team. Jackson Whittemore is lacrosse. He's been our best player since he first tried out.  
He's also the lacrosse captain.

Danny, Jackson's best friend, has a perfect smile and great personality. He's a gentleman with charm. However, his boyfriend would be mighty confused if he started hitting on me.

Then, you have my two best guy friends on the team. I won't deny they are attractive; I am not blind. Isaac has this pretty boy face, excellent fashion sense, and straight, pearly-white teeth. And Scott is one of the most adorable human beings, with a  
caring personality, plus a beautiful head of hair. But, if any of them tried to flirt with me I would laugh. Not in a mean way, in a wow-you're-so-precious sort of way. I am weird when it comes to guys; there is something that just clicks when I meet  
a guy I am attracted to, it's hard to explain. When I know, I know.

"McCall! You're on goal," Coach shouts as all the boys get in their place in the huddle around Coach and me.

Scott shoots me a question looking, and all I can do it shrug my shoulders. Personally, I wouldn't put him on goal. He's never played that position a day in his life.

"McCall, what did I just say about looking at Stella? Don't!" Coach points towards the goalie equipment sitting on the ground next to him. "The boys need some scoring shots today, a nice confidence boost."

While the boys all run onto the field to do some scoring drills, I sit on the bench behind Coach. Stiles, takes the seat next to me, with a sigh. Getting Stiles off the bench is my main goal this year. It will happen, somehow.

I notice Scott's eyes lingering on something behind Stiles and I. No, he needs his focus. What could be distracting him? Glancing over my shoulder, I see Lydia and Allison have decided to come watch practice. Queen bee must have convinced her new best  
friend to sit with her today. Lydia comes to every practice, and I am still unsure if she does it to cheer Jackson on. Or if she does to stake her claim to the lacrosse captain.

I blow the whistle around my neck, signaling its time to start the drill. Scott doubles over, covering his ear as if the noise is bursting his eardrums. Furrowing my eyebrows together, I make a mental note to keep a watchful eye on him for the rest of  
practice. There is something off about him today. He hasn't used his inhaler once, he's been more spacy than usual – not including being distracted by the brunette in the stands - and now all of a sudden he has sensitive hearing. What is going on?

The boy first in line to throw shoots the ball towards Scott, not caring that Scott isn't prepared for it. Next thing you know Scott is falling backward in the goal after being hit in the face with the ball. Thank goodness the boys wear helmets. Coach  
bursts out laughing, along with most of the team.

"It's okay! Shake it off Scott," I cheer. So he's a little rusty when it comes to team practices, no big deal. I blow the whistle again, and the next boy runs the drill. This time, Scott catches the ball!

"Yeah!" Stiles yells, his head perking up.

Everyone seems a little caught off guard at Scott's catch, even Coach. Shouts of glee erupt after Scott blocks ball after ball from making it into the goal. Scott has gone from being some mediocre lacrosse player to this magnificent beast at the sport.  
The surprise is evident from the roweled up crowd. It's making Scott giddy. He's bouncing from foot to foot in the goal.

Jackson Whittemore is seething with anger, practically steaming from the ears. If the attention isn't on him, he makes sure to find a way to win the spotlight back. The jock cuts off the next boy in line, making it so he can test Scott's newfound lacrosse  
skills. Jackson Whittemore does not go easy. Jackson Whittemore destroys other players.

I stand up from the bench as Jackson sprints towards the goal. The ball soars towards Scott, every millisecond seems to stretch in time. With one swift movement, Scott stops the shot.

Stiles jumps up off the bench, picking me up in one swift movement. The clipboard in my hand falls to the ground while he spins me around, screaming in excitement, "Hoo Hoo Hoo! Stella, did you see that?! That's our best friend!"

I am trying to cheer through my laughter, my hands in the air. This is unexpected, amazing, and most of all awe-inspiring. Scott's always had the potential to be a great player, but what he's done on this field today is far beyond that. "Whoa! Scott!"

Stiles puts me down, both of us staring in amazement. Coach looks over his shoulder at me. "Stella! Why did you fail to mention McCall became good at lacrosse?" He doesn't even give me time to answer. "Great assistant coach you are!"

* * *

Pulling on the end of my flannel shirt, my eyes scour the forest floor. Scott somehow dropped his inhaler last night. Those things aren't cheap, so Stiles and I decided it would be best if we aided him in his search for it. I mean, Stiles did convince  
him to join us last night, so we share some of the blame for him misplacing the thing he needs to breathe. I still find it strange he survived the entire school day and practice without needing it once.

I walk across a fallen tree, while Stiles and Scott jump down to cross the tiny creek underneath. I am still wearing my first day of school outfit, which consists of this flannel shirt with an Iron Man t-shirt underneath, a nice pair of jeans, and my  
brand new vans. Or I would be down there with them. My father demanded I make this pair of shoes last more than a couple of months.

"I don't know how to explain it. It was like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball! And other weird things are going on. I can hear things I shouldn't be able to. I can smell everything," Scott exclaims in awe.

He has been trying to explain, in the best way he can, how he dominated practice today. Sensitivity to sound would answer the question to why me blowing my whistle caused him pain. Time seeming to stand still clears up how he caught every single ball  
during practice today. Well, except for the first one, which hit him on his helmet covered head.

"All of this is pretty similar to Peter Parker went through. You know, with the exception that he got bit by a spider, not a wolf. And you know depending on which series we are talking about, he was able to all of a sudden produce web-"

"Really, Stella? Spiderman? Do you have to bring superheroes into everything?" Stiles interrupts.

"What if all of this is from an infection? Could this be adrenaline," Scotts ponders, ignoring the two of us beginning to bicker.

I brush a piece of my naturally, brownish-red colored hair out of my face. Scott may be on to something. But, if it is an infection wouldn't he be getting worse by now? Sure adrenaline temporarily makes you feel powerful, but the effects don't stick around  
this long. At least to my knowledge they don't.

"You know what? I know what's wrong with you. You have lycanthropy," Stiles shouts. He swiftly turns to Scott, eyes wide as if he's just had an epiphany.

I scoff under my breath at the idea. Stiles can't get annoyed by me bringing up superheroes if he is going to trick our best friend into believing he is becoming a werewolf. Scott desperately asks what that means, falling for my brothers sarcasm.

"Stiles-" I try to cut my brother off. Scott apparently doesn't know lycanthropy is the transition a human goes through when becoming a werewolf. I wouldn't if I didn't read comic books or fantasy novels. Werewolves don't exist, they are mythical creatures,  
works of fiction.

"It's a terrible thing that only flares up once a month. It happens on the night of the full moon." Stiles tilts his head back and impersonates a wolf howling.

I can't help but laugh at his imitation of a wolf howling. My sudden lack of attention to my surroundings causes me to trip over an uprooted vine. Falling face first, I thrust my arms out just in time to catch myself. Seconds later and I would have eaten  
dirt.

"Whoa, you okay Stells," Scott asks, trying not to chuckle at my clumsiness. Gravity and I do have a funny relationship. It seems to like when I am laid out on the ground from tripping over something or falling from somewhere.

Scott pulls me up, and I mutter a thank you as I start wiping leaves and other forest grime off of me. Stiles is still going on with his werewolf theory, unaffected by my fall. "You know Friday is a full moon, and being a werewolf probably comes with  
some negative side effects. We are going to have to be cautious of any weird behavior."

"Wait...we are here. This is where I fell, this is where my inhaler should be." Scott stops, stooping towards the ground, eyeing the area. Stiles stops next to him, moving around some leaves with his shoes.

I walk past both of them, still brushing the forest ground off my clothing. I quickly stop as I run into something hard, grabbing hold of what I have hit to steady myself. When I feel the texture of leather under my fingers, I jump backward, jerking my  
head up a little to fast. Dots cloud my vision for a moment, and whoever I ran into grabs hold of my arms.

As I regain my composure, I realize a pair of unique, green eyes are staring down at me. They're studying my face, taking in every little detail of me, from my hazel eyes, trickling down to my pouty lips, and then slowly down my tiny frame. The mans'  
gaze lights a flame to my skin, color rushing to my cheeks.

I can't help but examine the man before me. His stormy green eyes hold stories of hard times, a somber expression etched on his face tells me he's trying to appear nonchalant, guarded. A five o'clock shadow highlights his defined jawline, and a black  
t-shirt clings to his muscular body, partially hidden under a black leather jacket. His attire gives off the vibe of not wanting to be messed with, but the way he's staring at me tells a different story. He wants to know more than what meets the eye.

I tense up at the thought this stranger is analyzing me, as I am him. My voice comes out wavered, and almost not loud enough to be heard. "Uhh...guys."

"Did you find it-" Stiles starts to say, but quickly stops.

I glance down at the rough hands holding my arms. Any reasonable person may have tried to wriggle out of this man's touch, but I currently have the mobility of a statue. Slowly gazing back up into the eyes of the stranger, my lips part, almost as if I  
might speak up. Nothing happens. Gently, he releases his hold on me, as if he knows what I am thinking.

Quickly, his eyes go past me. His demeanor changes to hostile "What are you doing here? Huh? This is private property."

"Uh, sorry, man, we didn't know," Stiles says, his tone uneasy. Leaves crunch as he undoubtedly steps closer to me, ready to push me behind him if needed.

"Yeah we were just looking for something-" Right as Scott goes to say what he is missing, the man reaches into his leather jacket pocket, pulling out my friend's inhaler. The man's eyes come back to me. He puts his hand out, Scott's inhaler resting in  
his palm. As I grab the object from his hand, our fingers linger against each other for a brief second in time. It's not until Scott places his hand on my shoulder that I realize I am standing in the forest, staring at a stranger. The stare isn't  
one sided though, he's looking right back at me.

Scott grip tightens, "Thanks. C'mon Stella, I have work."

I allow him to pull me away from the stranger, but my mind stays right next to the man, trying to figure him out. For a couple of moments, the three of us walk in silence.

"Guys, that was Derek Hale. You remember him, right?" Stiles pauses, waiting for Scott or me to speak up. We don't. "He's not that much older than us, maybe a couple years."

"Why would we remember him?" I question. Forgetting a man like him doesn't seem possible. If I knew Derek Hale, there would be no forgetting him.

"You don't remember the Hale Family fire? Almost all of Derek's relatives died in a house fire, like, ten years ago."

Around nine years old I had snooped through all of my father's files, reading every detail of the crimes in Beacon Hills. I distinctly remember reading the outline of a case where a family had been burned alive. Something about that incident hadn't felt  
right to me, it made me feel physically ill. In fact, the Hale case is the only file I didn't finish that day.

* * *

As I look over my notes from the previous day's try-outs, Isaac plops down beside me with an ever too serious expression on his face. He's in one of his moods, and as his best friend, it is my duty to break him out of his funk. It's the last day to impress  
Coach. Isaac may be on the short list for varsity today, but one screw up could land him a nice spot on the bench for the whole season.

"I probably shouldn't tell you this, but since I know you can keep a secret. You have a good shot at making varsity. All you have to do is keep being awesome." I lightly punch him on the arm, smiling big for extra effect.

Isaac stares straight ahead, continuing to frown, "I am average, Stella. An average lacrosse player, an average student, and an average kid. Someone like me won't make the team." The words sound repeated as if they aren't his own; he's only repeating  
them to drill themfurther into his brain.

"Isaac, you are a great player and an even better person. Why would you ever think you are average?"

Isaac looks at me out of the corner of his eye. For a moment I think he's going to smile at me, but quickly he shakes his head, falling back into his darkened mood. I can tell he is once again internally repeating the word 'average'. "I don't know. Forget  
I said anything."

Isaac hops up, not allowing me to ask what's wrong. Stiles slumps onto the bench next to me, taking Isaac's spot. His head falls into his hands, a heavy sigh accompanying his grim attitude. Did all my friends have bad days today? First Scott, then Isaac,  
and now Stiles.

At six in the morning, Scott called me to pick him up, because he had woken up in the middle of the Beacon Hill Preserve, the exact place he was bitten. Needless to say, I sped all the way there, my mind processing idea after idea of how he got out there  
in his sleep. Not wanting to further contribute to his panic, I tried to persuade him to calm down. I told him it's possible all of this stress over eliminations could be causing him to sleepwalk. I mean that's what doctors blame on things they can't  
one hundred percent explain medically. Must be stress, right? Scott didn't buy it.

When I told Stiles, what happened he freaked out, along with showing me some unusual news dad told him. Early this morning DNA came back from the lab. The hair that was found on the torn-in-half dead body turned out to be a wolf's. The same animal Scott's  
convinced bit him. A creature no one has seen in this area for over fifty years. Odd things are happening around here, too bizarre for them to all be coincidences. Though, Isaac being in a bad mood probably has little, to nothing, to do with wolves  
appearing in town out of thin air.

"I am guessing you tried to tell Scott the news," I guess, glancing over at my brother.

"Yup," he answers, resting in his chin on his hands.

"And he didn't listen, did he?"

"Nope."

"Stiles, he is just nervous about today. All the guys are, because if you don't make the first line today, you don't play. Everyone knows how Coach does things. Only the best play," I tell him, trying to make him feel better about being ignored.

"Stella is right," Coach shouts, getting the boys attention, "If you don't make the cut, nothing else matters. Now get out there and show me whatcha got!"

That isn't really what I said, but okay. Practice starts and everything is running like normal; Jackson is an over aggressive jerk, Scott is playing amazing like he did yesterday, and Stiles is sitting next to me on the bench.

The next play begins, and Jackson body slams into Scott, causing him to fall to the ground. I close my eyes, letting out a sigh. One day, Jackson will learn to play nice. I mean, can a person really be a jerk forever?

Scott gets up, and the play starts over. When Jackson tries to get him this time, at the last second Scott swirls out of the way. Another teammate tries to block him, and he jumps in the air, switching the hand his stick is in. My jaw drops as Scott speeds  
down the field towards a group of boys charging at him. As he reaches the three guys, he jumps off the ground, flipping over them.

"Hell yes, Scott!" I applaud, looking over to gauge Stiles reaction. Stiles doesn't seem excited. He isn't happy, or even jealous. Stiles is worried, and at that moment it hits me. Could my brother be right about what he said in the forest yesterday?  
With these newfound abilities, what if there are accompanying harmful side effects? Again, just like the night Scott was bitten, a negative feeling surrounds me.

* * *

Fingers tapping away on keyboards is the only noise coming from Stiles's and I's bedrooms. We have been scouring the internet, and every other media source, for information on werewolves. Yesterday I believed the idea of their existence to be unrealistic,  
now not so much. It's about seventy-thirty as of right this instant. Seventy percent of me says Scott McCall is ready to join the X-Men, thirty percent is blaming little sleep for my insanity.

Ever since we got home yesterday night, Stiles insisted we dig into this folklore some more. Over and over he kept telling me that all of this stuff Scott can suddenly do doesn't just appear out of thin air. There has to be a reason. Eventually, I caved  
into the idea my brother might be onto something.

"Did you find anything else," Stiles yells from his room as he walks through towards our jack and jill bathroom.

Our bedrooms are connected by this tiny hallway, with a conjoining bathroom. It's kind of convenient; when both of us are home we just leave our doors open, that way we can communicate without having to go to the other person's room. It also comes in  
handy when I have nightmares. Stiles is able to just run into my room to wake me.

"I gave you everything I found so far," I let him know. Stiles peaks his head into my room. The printer on my desk starts up again, printing out whatever he has found. If it's possible, Stiles is going to reach the end of the internet with all the research  
he has been doing.

"Stiles? Stella?"

Finally, Scott shows up. Stiles and I run into Stiles's research covered room. There are books, papers, and pictures everywhere. Energy drinks litter his desk, along with my Iron Man mug. Instead of two days of not leaving his room, it looks like Stiles  
hasn't cleaned in maybe a month. Scott's glances between the two of us and the catastrophe that is my brother's bedroom. His brows furrow, and he set his stuff down, waiting for Stiles to start explaining.

"Great, you are here. I was up all night researching...Stella helped when she woke up this morning... Uhh..," Stiles scrambles to pick up certain things he wants to show Scott, "I read everything from websites, books, even magazines!"

"How much Adderall did you take?" Scott laughs, taking a seat on Stiles bed.

"A lot. Doesn't matter. Okay, just listen. Remember the joke from the other day? Not a joke anymore. I did all this reading...Do you even know why a wolf howls?"

"No, should I?"

"A wolf's howl is a signal. One they make when they are alone, and they want to give their location to the rest of their pack. If you believe you heard a wolf howl the other night, that might mean there could be a pack nearby."

"You think there is a whole pack of wolves in the Preserve?"

"No-Werewolves."

* * *

 **A/N: Revised**


	3. I'm a Werewolf

"Are you seriously wasting my time with this? You know I am picking up Allison in an hour," Scott groans, crossing his arms across his chest. His first date in high school history is tonight.

Last night, the Allison had pounded on the door of the vet's office, begging for someone to open up. She hadn't been able to stop in time, due to slick road conditions from the rain, so when a dog sprinted in front of her car, slamming on her breaks didn't stop her from hitting the stranded mutt. In a panic she drove to the first vet's office she could find, which happened to be the one Scott works at. I guess one thing led to another and he asked her out.

Scott deserves to go on a date with a beautiful girl like Allison. In any other typical situation, I would be thrilled to have him go off on his little date, but not in this one, where he might turn into a wolf. So yes, Stiles and I are serious. Werewolves being real once seemed improbable. Us telling Scott he may be transitioning into one might make us sound delusional, but we aren't kidding. A date can be postponed, but the rising of a full moon cannot be stopped.

Scott stands up, grabbing his backpack. Grumbling on about how we are wasting his time, he attempts to walk out of Stiles's room. Stiles jumps out of his chair, putting his hand on Scott's chest. "I saw you on the field today, Scott. Okay, what you did wasn't just amazing, all right? It was impossible."

"I worked hard at the first two practices, so what?" Scott argues, not backing down. My brother shakes his head in exasperation. He's trying so hard to tell his best friend something life-changing, and Scott won't listen.

In my head I replay Scott jumping in the air, switching hands his stick is in mid-jump. Another flash and I see him flipping over the three boys who are charging at him. Stiles's is right. It's highly unlikely one summer turns a bench warmer into a star athlete.

"No, it's more than that! The way you moved, your speed, your reflexes. People can't just suddenly do that overnight. And there's the vision and the heightened senses, and don't even think I don't notice that you don't need your inhaler anymore."

Out of all the side effect of the bite, Scott not having to reach for his inhaler all day is the one that bothered me the most. You could say it was the final piece to the puzzle. Once it was put in place, I saw the whole picture, I believed Stiles's theory to be correct. A severe asthmatic does not go from having to use his inhaler multiple times a day, to not once touching it in a twenty-four-hour period.

"Okay," Scott shouts in Stiles's face, putting me on edge, "Dude, I can't think about this now. We'll talk tomorrow."

No, this can't wait. We - _he -_ has to take this seriously. There is a considerable chance nothing will happen, but it's not worth the little possibility he will spill blood. Words tumble urgently from my lips, "By tomorrow it will be too late. If Stiles is right - and I know it sounds crazy to say that - tonight, when the full moon is out, your bloodlust will be at its peak."

Scott turns to me, his brown eyes singling in on me. I hold my stare, not caring that he's throwing knives at me with his eyes. I understand why he is having a hard time accepting this. No one ever thinks terrible things will happen to them, not until they do, and by then it's too late. If there's a chance you can get ahead of the bad, you take that opportunity.

"Bloodlust?"

"Yeah, your urge to kill," Stiles tells him, picking up a book that is cracked wide open on his desk. Inside are tales of abnormal wolves, able to transition from man to wolf. And those stories tell of their thirst for blood, a yearning to kill. Not exactly a trait you want describing your best friend, but hey it could be worse.

"I am already starting to feel an urge to kill, Stiles," Scott growls, his nails clenching into his palms.

"Listen to this 'The change can be caused by anger or anything that raises your pulse.'"

"Like the Hulk-" I cut in.

"Stella!" They both shout at the same time. I shrug my shoulders. Anger turns Bruce Banner into a green, mean, fighting machine. Anger rises in werewolves, and they become furry fighting machines. The similarities are there.

"You have to cancel that date. I haven't seen anyone raise your pulse like Allison does." Stiles drops the book on his desk, walking towards Scott's backpack.

"What are you doing?" Scott questions, a frown playing on his lips. Stiles digs through our possible werewolf's backpack. Fishing out Scott's phone, Stiles starts typing away.

"I am canceling the date." Stiles goes to move towards me, but Scott doesn't give him a chance.

"No, give it to me!" Scott grabs Stiles by the arms shoving him up against the bedroom wall. The thud of my brother's body slamming into the wall next to me, causes me to jump. As Scott raises a fist, I throw myself between the two.

"Stop," I scream, worried for the first time in my life that Scott might hurt my twin brother, his best friend. "No offense, but this seems pretty Hulk like to me, losing control when you get angry! Look at yourself, look at what you are doing, Scott!"

"Ahhhh!" Scott lets Stiles go, slamming his arm into Stiles desk chair, sending it in my direction. I barely get out of the chair's way, jumping onto Stiles bed at the last second. Gripping onto the sheets, I scoot back, away from Scott. We have bickered before, even had a night or two were we stayed angry with each other, but never has he been violent with me. He couldn't have meant to push the chair in my direction; there's no way Scott would intentionally hurt me.

Completely shocked, Stiles pushes Scott out of his way, coming to make sure I am okay. As he asks if I am alright, I slowly nod without taking my eyes off Scott. Guilt brims in his orbs, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows it down.

"I'm sorry. I-I gotta go get ready for that party. I am so sorry." Scott gaze wanders the room, looking anywhere but at me. Quickly he puts space between us, slamming the door as he goes.

"You know what this means right?" Stiles's voice is soft. I almost don't hear him.

Letting myself fall back against Stile's mattress, I close my eyes, taking in everything. The werewolf thing is about eighty-twenty now. "We have to go to that party don't we?"

"Yeah, we do."

* * *

Loud music pulses through the night air, sending out a feeling of wanting to dance. Scattered across the front yard of the house I am standing in front of, kids my age are laughing and meeting up with friends before heading to the party. I don't remember whose house this is, only that it's one of the lacrosse player's. A lacrosse player who parents have a crapload of money seemingly. This house is more like a mansion.

Danny had tried to convince me to come to this party at the last practice. And just like the many times before that one, I told him I wasn't sure I would go. Danny has been attempting to coax me into coming to one of these things since the beginning of freshman year. Every time I turn him down he lectures me on how I need to get out there, have more fun. At no point has his little speeches worked on me. In turn, I hang out at home with Stiles, Isaac, or Scott. And if they weren't around I would go hang out at the station.

I know it sounds lame, but I just never thought the party scene looked like something I would enjoy. Drinking with a friend or two may be a good time, but letting loose with a bunch of strangers around, no. Standing here, watching people stumble over their own feet, I am envisaging why I allowed Stiles bring me here. Isaac and I were planning on hanging out tonight. I was going to make him watch the Iron Man movies with me. But instead, I had to force him into going out with me. At first, he put up quite the fight, but moments later he caved with a roll of his eyes.

"Let's split up," Stiles's suggest, starting to walk in the direction of the house's entrance.

"Alright, Isaac's with me," I latch onto Isaac's hand, leading him up the stairs, towards the front door. If we don't go in now, we aren't ever going in.

"Wait, Stella!" Stiles follows after us, but once we are in the house, I lose him. When he said split up, Stiles meant for me to ditch Isaac, but I would never. One day Stiles will come around, and except Isaac is a big part of my life.

I pull Isaac into the kitchen, running straight into Jackson Whittemore as I do. Clumsy me strikes again.

"Stella Stilinski at a party? This is something I never thought I would see." Jackson cocks his head to the right, sizing Isaac up. Isaac is holding onto my arm, almost protectively. He slides past me, so he is slightly in between Jackson and I. "How did this loser manage to get you out of the house?" Jackson's eyes now shift over to me. "Does your sheriff daddy know you are here?"

For a second I don't know what to say because I wasn't aware Jackson even knew my name. He ignores my existence at practice most days, unless he needs me to do something. And outside of school, there is zero contact. When I do respond, I find myself laughing. "Wouldn't make sense to tell my dad that I was coming here. You don't tell cops when you are about to do something illegal. Pretty sure everyone knows not to do that."

I give Jackson a small smile, and he looks at me in confusion. Did he expect me to tremble in his presence? Or be embarrassed? He is just another high school boy. I don't care if he has money and good looks. That's not what is important to me, and it surely doesn't make me believe he is superior to me. "Oh, and for the record, Isaac isn't a loser. He almost scored as many goals as you last season, he's better at defense than you are, and he's a better human being."

Isaac hurriedly pushes me past the now brooding jock, hissing into my ear, "You don't have any alcohol in you, and already you're trying to get us killed."

I roll my eyes playfully at Isaac. What is Jackson going to do? Nothing. Jackson's a talker, not a doer.

Danny walks up to me with a big smile. "Stella, you finally decided to come! Took you long enough." He brings me in for a side hug. "Isaac, happy to see you. Why don't you guys have drinks?"

"We just found our way to the kitchen. This place is packed, and we had a run in with Jackass over there." I nod my head in the direction of Jackson, Danny's best friend. Even though those two are close, Danny understands Jackson is a dick ninety-nine percent of the time. He just chooses to be a good friend by ignoring the noticeable flaw.

Danny laughs while shaking his head at me, and he reaches for a couple of red solo cups that are on the granite counter next to him. He gestures for us to follow him, and we make our way over to some mini bar in the backyard, where there are more liquor bottles than I can count, plus many kinds of mixers. Without asking, Danny makes us two drinks.

"I don't need one," Isaac speaks up, hovering behind me with a blank expression. "One of us will need to drive home."

The excuse is lame, and I know he isn't worried about driving home. Stiles promised he would stay sober. He may have made it sound like a joke, because he's aware that I don't drink often, but it doesn't matter. Stiles always keeps his word.

Taking the two drinks from Danny's hand, I look over at Isaac giving him a sneaky smirk. When one is forced into going to a Beacon Hills party, one might as well make the most of it. "Don't drink if you don't want to. I won't make you do anything you don't feel comfortable with, except coming here of course. However, Stiles did promise to stay sober tonight, and he doesn't go back on his promises."

Isaac glares at me as he snatches the drink Danny offered him out of my hand. "Don't make me regret this."

I cock my right eyebrow, bringing the cup to my lips. Isaac's words almost sounded like a challenge. Well, challenge accepted. Without warning, I place the cup to my lips and start to chug. The liquid burns the back of my throat, but that doesn't hinder me from gulping it all down.

"Stella!" "Whoa, go Stella!"

Finishing the drink, laugh at the boy's expressions. Danny looks at me, a little impressed that I finished the whole thing. I almost bend over from laughter when I peer over at Isaac who is staring at me incredulously. It seems like Isaac wants to throw me over his shoulder and take me home right now. Already he's regretting allowing me to sway him to join me here tonight.

I put my hand on his arm, shaking it lightly. "For one night lets forget about everything and just have fun."

Isaac looks down at me, his bright blue eyes burning into me. He tends to shy away from things, and there's nothing wrong with that if he's happy. But, I know he's not. Not once have I seen Isaac genuinely having fun. I would like to change that.

"You owe me, big time." Isaac starts downing his drink, and I walk over to the mini bar to make another.

* * *

Too many drinks later, I can't stop laughing. There has been a constant smile on Isaac's face all night. This is the first time I have ever seen him so carefree, and I love it. Everyone around me is laughing, smiling, or dancing. Later people may regret their actions or get sick, but right now all of us are having the times of our lives.

Every once in a while I spot Stiles checking up on me from another room, narrowing his eyes when he see's me dancing near guys. If it were up to Stiles, I would never date, or he would pick my boyfriend. Considering I don't want to date a Star Wars nerd, whose is as equally as strange as my brother, Stiles may always be running boys out of my life.

The girl Isaac has been dancing with breaks away to get and drink, and he makes his way to me. For the last couple songs, I have just been dancing with a group of people, no one in particular. I didn't want a guy's hands all over me, especially in the state I am in. When I almost trip over my own two feet, Isaac grabs hold of my waist. I grip his arms, giggling at my lack of coordination. It's moments such as this one where a smile stretches so far across my face it hurts. I hope to remember this night for a long time to come, so when if dark days roll in, I have a piece of light to hold onto.

Isaac pulling me closer to him, raising his voice so I can hear him over the music, "Thank you, Stella."

"For what?" I rest my chin on his chest, looking up at his boyish face. His pink lips are pulled into a smile. A smile that's highly contagious, might I add.

A strange feeling suddenly passes through me. Someone's watching me; I can feel their stare on my back. It's chipping away at my calm exterior, causing me to sober up a tad. Biting my bottom lip, I slightly pull away from Isaac, searching the crowded room for whoever it might be. When Isaac asks me what's wrong, I force a smile as I feed him a lie about the place feeling stuffy all of a sudden. Breaking out of his grasp, I turn to the window in the room. My eyes connect with two green ones, the eyes of a man I only met for the first time days ago. Derek Hale.

"Derek?" I mumble under my breath. Casually, I fib to Isaac for the second time tonight, telling him I am in need of fresh air. I hate lying to him, but I have no idea what's going on, and I get the feeling I should leave him out of it.

"Scott, wait," someone close to me yells. Spinning around, I see Allison chasing after Scott, who is pushing through the crowd like a madman. She's trying to grab ahold of him, but he's too fast. This can't be good.

All thoughts of Derek dissipate. Scott being in trouble is way more important. Without a second thought, I am following behind Allison. Shoving through the crowd of students isn't easy, but I am as determined as a drunk teenager can be. By the time I get outside Scott has started up his car and is driving away, leaving Allison behind. She's standing on the curb, her one arm latched onto her other forearm. Dang it, I had hoped nothing would happen tonight, prayed this first date would go well for Scott's sake. Neither Stiles or I wanted to be right.

"What got into him?" I question Allison, walking up to her. I try to focus on her, not wanting to pay attention to the fact running made me feel dizzy.

Allison turns to me, her big, doe eyes showing the hurt she feels. Scott had just left her, and judging from the way he ran out of here, I don't think he gave her an explanation. This might be her worst first date.

"Stella, right?" she asks, attempting to make herself smile.

"Yup, that's me." To avoid falling, I sit down on the nearby curb. "How did you know?"

"Scott told me about you. I may have asked him if you two were together," she grins awkwardly, taking a seat next to me.

I try to hide my laughter, but I can't. Scott and I together? That will never happen. "He might as well be my triplet. Sorry I didn't mean to laugh at you. I am a little out of it, I don't usually go to parties." I rest my head in my hands, trying to ignore the now spinning world around me.

"Yeah, I don't either. I only came because Scott asked me to." Her laughter this time is more comfortable, like she's talking to a good friend.

"Allison, Stella?"

I peek through my fingers to see who is addressing us, not that I need to. I recognize Derek's voice instantly. His beautiful green eyes are fixated on me, making me blush. How does he have this effect on me? Thankfully I am not looking directly up at him. A thought crosses my jumbled thoughts. Why had Derek Hale been lurking outside the window earlier? Was he spying on someone inside? I am trying to make sense of my questions, but whatever I have been drinking tonight has turned my ideas into mush.

"I am a friend of Scott's and Stella," he continues, this time speaking to only Allison, "Scott asked me to give you guys a ride home. He isn't feeling well."

Friends? Derek Hale and I friends? That isn't a word I would have used to describe us. Actually, there are no words to describe us, because there isn't an us. Derek Hale is just a guy who got mad at my friends and me, when we accidentally walked onto his property.

Derek intrigues me for unknown reasons. Despite his dark reputation, I have this urge to get know more about him. Uncovering my face, I glimpse up at him. Surprisingly he doesn't look away. I think, without words, he is trying to convince me to let him drive me home. And I am going to permit him to do just that.

"Uhh...okay." Allison seems apprehensive, but since I am not verbalizing anything right now, she doesn't reject the offer. There is only one problem with allowing him to give us a ride home.

"I can't just leave Isaac behind," I explain, reaching my hand out for help. For a second he doesn't move, but when he does pull me up, I practically fall right into his arms. Either I am lighter than I believe or he is incredibly strong.

"Get in the car, Stella. I will take care of it."

* * *

Allison waves her goodbyes before disappearing into her house. On the car ride here she had explained what happened before Scott took off. Out of nowhere, he freaked out, insisting he had to leave. To her, it was unusual and unexplainable, but I had a slight idea of what had been happening, not that I could share that information with her. My initial reaction was to text Stiles and let him know, but I quickly found out my phone was dead. Therefore, all I could do was listen to Allison's story and hope Scott doesn't do anything regrettable. She wrote down her number on some spare piece of paper she found in Derek's back seat, telling me to keep her updated if I hear anything about Scott.

Sliding into the passenger seat, a leather jacket is tossed my way. "Thanks, but I will be all right till we get to my house."

Derek pulls away right when my door closes, not bothering to wait till I am buckled. He also ignores my comment, staring forwards at the road, never looking over at me for a second. Moments ago, at the party he was friendly, and now he won't talk. Derek's on edge, but I have no earthly clue why.

"You know, I was having a lot of fun at that party," I kid, pulling my knees to my chest. Laying the jacket over me, I use it as a blanket.

"I saw that," he says through clenched teeth. I hear his hands tighten their grip on the steering wheel. The sounds of skin against rubber makes me sink into my seat a little. Why is he angry with me? I tuck my arms under his leather jacket, letting it lay on top of me like a blanket. The smell of him rolls off the jacket in waves, his pleasant scent covering me.

"Why did you give Allison and me a ride home?" The alcohol is making me blunter than usual. In everyday life, I am a curious person, but right now I feel like an inquisitive five-year-old.

"I didn't want Allison to go after Scott. He could hurt her." His reply is precise and to the point. It's evident he doesn't want me asking anything else, but at this moment, right now, I don't care what he wants.

"Okay, that makes sense to why you gave Allison a ride him. But, that still doesn't tell me why I am here with you right now."

"You needed to go home too."

"Right, that way I can put on warmer clothes and go searching for Scott. Good point." The statement is meant to be serious, not a way to mock him. But, he looks over at me like I offended him or something.

Derek swerves over to the side of the road, making me grab the nearest thing I can; that just so happens to be the console in between the two of our seats. I look over at him with my mouth agape as he the tires screech to a stop on the side of the road. Either he wants me to upchuck in his car, or he wants to kill us both.

"What the-"

Derek grabs hold of my arm, his grip tight. "Listen to me, you are not to go searching for Scott. Do you understand?" His words are harsh, but the softness in his eyes lesson the blow. They are pleading for me to listen, begging me to go home and stay there. His sudden mood change is startling. First, he practically ignores me, then he is asking me to do as he says? I am too much under the influence to be thinking this hard.

"Scott McCall is one of my best friends. There is no way I am going to..." Something Derek said previously comes to mind, and suddenly I have an epiphany. He knows. Derek knows about Scott. "Wait, you told me you didn't want Scott to hurt Allison. You know what's going on with him because you know he is capable of hurting her."

Derek's hand drops and he goes to put his hands back on the steering wheel, but I don't let him. I clutch his hand with the tightest grip I can. He's going to explain to me what is going on. "Derek, what's happening to Scott? I need to understand the truth. No matter what you say, no matter how bad it may be, I won't tell another living soul. Scott's is a brother to me. I would never put him at risk."

He turns towards the window, his jaw clenching. It's transparent he is hiding something, and he isn't to keen on the idea of sharing the information he has. Fine, he doesn't have to. I can get it all on my own, even if it means searching for Scott all night, putting myself in danger if need be. Scott McCall is family. I don't give up on family.

"If you won't tell me, I will do whatever it takes to figure this out without you."

"No, you won't," Derek growls. Before I can move my hand from his arm, Derek grabs on tight, the pads of his fingers pressing into my skin.

At this moment I nor see, feel, or hear anything but him. Nothing else matters, except for the words about to come from his lips. Sensing uneasiness, I lay my hand on top of his. I meant what I said, nothing he says will have me abandon Scott. If he's a mini Wolverine, Stiles and I will find a way for him to control it. If it's an infection, and the spreading is causing these strange symptoms, we will find the cure. Stilinski's don't throw in the towel quickly, it's not in our blood.

Derek glances down at my hand, his voice softer now, "I am not going to hurt you. I have control."

My jaw drops in shock as his eyes raised to mine. The green eyes I found myself growing accustomed to are now gone. Glowing blues orbs are staring back at me now. They light up, like how stars light up the night sky. "I am a werewolf Stella, and Scott is one too."

* * *

 **A/N: Revised :)**

Cassie-011: Thanks! :)


	4. Second Chance at First Line

Closing my locker, I lean forward to lay my head against the cold, blue metal. It slightly helps dull the pounding pain from my stress headache. All day my mind has been replaying the rapid changes that had occurred since last week, when school first began. It still feels surreal to me, ungenuine, as if any moment I will wake from this thrilling/concerning dream. But, at the same time, it feels right.

Scott, a boy I have considered family since kindergarten is now a werewolf. And, he's not alone in the matter. Derek Hale is one too. The only difference being he was born not turned.

When Derek looked up at me with his neon blue eyes, I felt the truth in his words. For a moment, he studied me for a reaction. I assume he thought I might jump back from his grasp, in fear or disbelief. It didn't happen. My only response was follow-up questions, not that he bothered to answer any of them. He told me I knew what I needed to know, and anything else would put me further in danger.

I have to find out more. Derek has proved Stiles's theory of Scott being a werewolf. It seems ignorant to assume the species are the only supernatural creatures out there. So, what else is roaming through Beacon Hills? And are they friend or foe to Scott and Derek?

Speaking of Scott and Derek; Stiles and Scott informed me they believe Derek is the one who attacked Scott on that fateful night in Beacon Hill's Preserve. Even though I trust Scott wholeheartedly, I don't for a second consider what he told me to be true. If I had been less in shock, and soberer, I would have argued against their logic.

Stiles, Scott, and I all acknowledge the werewolf who bit Scott most likely tore up the body in the Preserves. A cold, malicious killer does outrageous things such as that. Derek isn't that kind of person. I sat right next to him, my hand on his. In the heat of the moment, I gave him trust, trust he could have taken advantage of. But he didn't because as guarded and mysterious as Derek may be, his secrets aren't dead bodies and turning kids into werewolves.

"Hey, are you okay?"

I turn my head to the side, twisting the skin on my forehead. Allison is walking my way, waving her hand at me.

With a deep sigh, I stand up straight, attempting a small smile. "Do you think it's possible to have a hangover for two days? I think it might be a thing."

Allison laughs, shaking her head in agreement with me. "I think I know what you are feeling right now. Have you tried Sprite? I swear it helps upset stomachs, and I may have some Advil or Tylenol if you need it."

"You must think I am weird. We keep meeting when I am not one hundred percent myself," I apologize. The first time she met me, I was a little too drunk, not able to stand without being dizzy. Now, my mind is being plagued by questions I want to be answered, causing me to be a mental and physical train wreck.

"Stella, I don't think you are weird," she laughs, "We all have our off days."

"Have you Scott talk to you?"

Allison's face lights up, her smile growing, "Yeah, we just talked-"

The bell rings, signaling after-school activities are about to start. If I don't get a move on it, I will be late for lacrosse practice. "I hate to cut our conversation short, but if I am late Coach will make me run with the boys. Watching sports and indulging in them are two different things, and I only enjoy the first part. Hopefully, everything is going great between Scott and you. You're good for him!"

* * *

Jogging in the other direction, I mentally cross my fingers for my best friend and the girl he's fallen for. Scott deserves happiness to balance out his life during this confusing time. Honestly, we all do.

Sprinting from the locker room, I run towards my twin, who is chatting with Scott. Somehow those two always manage to make it out of the locker room last, which is kinda handy for me. Coach is more forgiving when more than one person is late. Today, all three of us are barely making it onto the field on time.

"Did you apologize to Allison?" Stiles questions Scott, right as I catch up to them.

"I was literally about to ask that. Maybe we have telepathic powers like Professor X?" I interject, giving Stiles a funny grin.

Stiles puts his palm on my face, pushing me away. "Just ignore Stella. What happened, Scott?"

I fight off Stiles's hand, giving him a swift elbow jab to the stomach. No one silences me; I say what I want when I want.

"Yeah," Scott answers, looking in the distance. He's distracted by something, but I am unsure what. Getting a less than satisfactory explanation, Stiles looks to me for help. Because, now I am useful, whereas before I was only a nuisance.

"I'm not Jean Grey, I can't invade your mind. Can you communicate in greater detail here? What do you mean by 'yeah'?" I press.

"She's giving me a second chance," he continues answering in this distracted trance, causing me to become increasingly concerned.

Granted, I am not an expert at men, but shouldn't he happy Allison is giving him a second chance? Scott's been drooling over her since the first day of school, and when he screws up his first opportunity, she gives him another chance. That's something to jump for joy over. Yet, his feet are planted on the ground, and his mind is in la la land.

"Yeah! All right. So everything's good." Stiles puts his hand up for a high five, but Scott and I both ignore him.

"No," Scott says as he stops walking. He turns to Stiles and me, knotting his free hand in his hair. Whatever he is trying to hide, it's digging it's way out.

"No?" "Scott what's wrong." Stiles and I blurt out at the same time.

"Her dad is one of them, a werewolf hunter! He shot me in the arm with a crossbow-"

"Werewolf Hunters? You were shot with a crossbow? When the hell did this happen?" I hiss, staring from my twin to Scott. How long ago did this happen? And why did this two knuckleheads not tell me? It's not like it's a life or death thing!

"Her dad," Stiles repeats Scott's words, almost as surprised as the young wolf, if not more. My brother's attention quickly comes to me, being aware of how I hate to be ignored. "Sorry Stells, we didn't want to worry you till we knew more."

"Worry me? Whatever you two go through, I go with you! It's how we do things. You two run into a problem, and I find a way to make it lighter, so we don't all get crushed by the issue. We have a process," I explain, waving my hands around like a crazy person.

"Yes! Her father is a hunter! Oh, my god. He hunts werewolves...What if she does? This is gonna kill me," Scott blurts out, suddenly deciding to panic. Talk about late reactions.

"Okay, let's be clear for a second, no one is dying anytime soon. We will figure this out _,_ " I assure. A part of me is panicking, but showing the boys my worry would help no one.

Scott became a werewolf week ago, and already he has an enemy, an enemy who shot him with an arrow! This is happening a little to fast. No matter, we will find a way to get through this. We have to.

"Stella, you finally decided us to grace us with your presence. And you too, McCall and…other kid! If you three are late again, I am going to make you run laps until you physically can't! Is that what you want?" Coach shouts, his hands on his hip.

Scott, Stiles, and I will have to put a pause on said crisis, resuming later on tonight. Most likely, Scott putting his energy into this practice will level his thinking a little. A clearer head means better speculation on how to solve this pressing issue.

"Sorry Coach, I was in the library going over plays." Coach is pleased with my lie and yells for the boys to finish gearing up.

Spotting Isaac on the bench, where I sit and watch practice, I go over to him, messing with his hair while taking a seat next to him. His immediate reactions being to swat my hand away, followed by a classic Isaac eye roll.

"Hey! How was your hangover yesterday? Mine was pretty rough." I pull my clipboard out of Coach's bag. He likes for me to take notes on what needs to be improved. Part of me wants to write 'my life' down today.

Isaac continues tying the laces to his cleats, his eyes staying on them. "Who was that guy? The one who took you home the other night?"

He is trying to sound casual, but I hear the ambiguity when he says Derek's name. I still have no idea how Derek knew who Isaac was. He must have guessed it was the guy he saw me dancing with when I felt his eyes on me.

Out of impulse, I start flicking my pen against the paper. It's what I do when I am thinking. Isaac and Allison are the only people who know Derek gave me a ride home from the party. I have a feeling if I let Scott or Stiles in on this information they will give me the third degree.

"You mean Derek?" I ask, saying his name casually, like we are old friends. It's hard to do so because part of me wants to spill the truth, divulge every detail.

Shouldn't my best friend be privy to the information there's a crazed werewolf on the loose who has already killed someone and took a chunk out of my other brother? But, then I would be exposing Scott. Him being supernatural is not my secret to share. Maybe the less Isaac knows, the better.

"How do you know him?" Isaac finishes up tying his cleats, looking over at me with wondering eyes, "Oh, and the ride back with Stiles was awesome. Thanks for that."

"Uh. He is a friend...not one I talk to that often. And again, I am so sorry about my brother." I avert my eyes from him, focusing on my notes from last practice.

Isaac's voice hardens, his hand landing on my arm, stopping my shaking pen. "Stella, be careful of that guy."

"Stiles? He's my twin brother. Granted he's weird- "

"Stella, I am talking about Derek!"

"Oh." I furrow my eyebrows, as I give Isaac my full attention. Does everyone, except me, get a bad feeling when it comes to Derek Hale?

"The way he argued with me about taking you home, it was possessive like. I don't like him, Stella. You should stay away."

It dawns on me that Isaac hasn't really shared his thoughts on other people in my life before, not to the extent where he has said to keep my distance from them. Isaac wouldn't just say that without reason.

And, truthfully, all I know about Derek is his name and the rumors Stiles has told me about the fire. Isaac and I are close, so I should just trust his instinct. But, for some reason, I still feel the need to know more about Derek, the need to not let other people's opinions sway me to think one way or another.

Coach blows his whistle for all the boys to huddle up, but I don't get up. Possessive like? Evidently, Isaac took his demeanor wrong. Isaac had been drinking, and I have seen first hand how is standoffish and rude to others Derek can be. Maybe Isaac was reading into it too much. Or possibly Derek wanted to end the conversation and was just a jerk about it. I could see either happening.

"Alright, let's go!" Coach shouts. "Jackson, take a long stick."

Whistle after whistle, I watch Jackson take on every opponent, getting more aggressive with each one. When it's Scott's turn, I jump off the bench to stand by Coach's side. The whistle signals and Scott goes running for Jackson. Without taking more than two steps, Jackson body slams Scott to the ground.

Scrunching up my face, I attempt to sway my mind from how unpleasant that looked. It's okay, Scott is a werewolf, no harm done. My fingers clasp more tightly onto my clipboard, scratching against the grainy bottom.

"McCall! Hey McCall, my grandmother can move faster than that, and she's dead." Coach comments.

Scott's body language exposes his anger. He won't take his eyes off the ground, and I get a sickening feeling it's because if he does, Coach will see he's turning into a werewolf.

Stiles takes place beside me, his eyes wide with. I mouth to him that it's okay, nudging his arm with my elbow. Scott can harbor this feeling, he's stronger than he anticipates. Coach is always an ass when it comes to lacrosse, and Jackson is still a prick. Scott can handle this.

Coach nods his head at me, and I blow the whistle. This time Scott slams into Jackson so hard, that the star athlete collapses to the ground, letting out an agony filled scream. I drop the clipboard as Scott falls to the ground holding his head. This can't happen, not on the field. Not with all these people around. "Scott!"

Stiles sprints past me, yelling over his shoulder. "I've got Scott. Go check on Jackson!"

I shake my head in agreement, picking up the speed as we go our separate ways. Kneeling on the ground next to Jackson, I try to assess his pain from the way he's contorting his face. "Coach, I need an ice pack!"

The lacrosse boys attempt to come closer, I shout at them, "Everyone back up! Give us some room, please!"

Jackson's eyes are squeezed tight, his teeth grinding against each. I reach my hand to remove his shoulder pads, and he lets out a yelp. "Don't touch me, Stella!" He holds his unhurt arm out, keeping my hand from touching his shoulder.

Coach breaks through the boys, handing me an ice pack. "Jackson quit being a first class jerk. Shut up for one second, and let me see how bad it is," I snarl. Depending on how severe the swelling is, he may need a ride to the hospital.

Jackson's face tightens, he looks furious with me. I don't back down, staring straight into his cold, blue eyes. Reluctantly, he sits up and lets me take off his shoulder pads. He grimaces when I gently touch where he tells me is the most painful spot.

I may not be a doctor, but I know that this isn't just going to be a big bruise tomorrow. When I was younger and needed things to do during the summer, Mama McCall would let me shadow her at the hospital. I am no expert, but I know what does and what doesn't need medical attention, for the most part. Jackson needs medical help.

"Jackson, where is your phone?" I calmly ask, trying to ease into what I am about to say. Causing panic only makes for a worse situation.

"Why?" For once his tone isn't condescending or rude, he's worried. This sport means everything to him; I can see it in the way he plays. Losing his spot on this team, or the ability to play would emotionally wound him.

"You need to call your parents or Lydia. This isn't a simple injury. Ice won't cut it; you need a doctor."

"It's in the front pocket of my bag. Will you call Lydia for me?"

I nod my head yes, before telling one of the other players to grab it. It's refreshing being around him when he's not a bully, but I have a feeling it won't last long.

Again, just like the other night, I get the same feeling someone is watching me. Someone who isn't a member of the lacrosse team. I stand up to grab the phone from Greenburg, a fellow lacrosse player, and a set of emerald green eyes shine from a distant. Derek Hale.

* * *

"You are about to be jealous of me, Stiles." I brag, falling belly first onto his bed. Stiles is playing his favorite online game while he waits for Scott to video call us. Computer games do not appeal to me, but Stiles spend hours at a time playing them. Sometimes I draw comics in here when he's playing his game. It's entertaining to hear him cursing at the small screen.

"You had to accompany the arrogant, team captain to the hospital. Why would that make me jealous?" Stiles scuffs, my implication going over his head. Has he not learned anywhere Jackson goes Lydia isn't far behind?

Moments after Jackson was carted away, the strawberry blonde burst through the hospital's doors. You couldn't miss her entrance, she made it grand, demanding the nearest nurse for information on Jackson. Considering the injured jock had only been wheeled in minutes prior, there was little the nurse could tell her. Of course, that was not okay with Lydia. The second she saw me, she stormed over to me, asking the same questions she did the nurse.

"So, you won't care that I got to speak to the love of your life, Lydia Martin?" I tease, my lips curling into a silly smirk.

Stiles spins the chair around too fast, subsequently falling out of it. He stutters over his next words like the lovesick kid he is, "You did what?"

The computer starts dinging, and I waste no time in jumping over my fallen brother to answer Scott's call. He had zero patience with me while I was at the hospital, calling and texting me every few minutes till my phone died.

"What'd you find out Stella?" Scott asks as he laces his lacrosse stick. Good, he found an activity to keep his mind busy.

"Oh, it's bad!" Stiles says as he scrambles to stand up, using the back of his chair to steady himself.

"Don't listen to Stiles. I haven't even told him yet," I lean back, scowling at my twin, "Honestly, it's nothing to get upset over, Scott."

Lydia disagreed with when the doctor came out to talk to us. In the waiting room, she ranted on about Jackson losing his spot on the varsity team, or even worse, his valuable role as captain. When I tried to talk her down, by insisting he probably would just need some rest, worst case scenario being he misses a couple practice and a game, she lost it.

"Stella, just tell me," Scott demands, losing his façade of being calm.

"Jackson has a separated shoulder," I blurt out. I had wanted to put it in a way that sounded like no big deal, but apparently, my big mouth won this round.

"Because of me?"

"Because he's a tool!" Stiles yells, not feigning an ounce of sympathy for his fellow teammate.

"Can he play?" Scott sighs. If Jackson can't play, Coach will be counting on Scott. And Scott confessed he feels it's dangerous for him to play because he lacks control over himself.

"They don't know, Scott," I explain.

The doctors recommended Jackson rest, claiming any rigorous activity could aggravate his shoulder and cause further injury. However, Lydia fought back, attempting to convince the ER doctor to 'give him the shot all pros get for minor injuries'. With an annoyed tone, the doctor refused to administer it, referring her to a specialist who deals with athletic injuries.

Stiles abruptly leans over, pointing to something on the computer screen. "Do you see that?"

I lean in, noticing a dark figure in the corner of Scott's room. From my end, it looks like a person is standing behind him.

"What the heck?" I screenshot the image, quickly sending it to my tablet. I get up, giving Stiles the keyboard so he can type a message to Scott, warning him of the intruder. How did a person just appear behind Scott?

I run into my room, grabbing the tablet off its charger. Once the picture is up, I use an app I have to zoom in and give more clarity to the image. I find myself pacing back, trying to keep my cool as I wait.

"Stella, I lost connection with him!" Stiles yells from the other room.

Right then, the image clears and on the screen is a man, wearing all black clothes, just like he always does.

* * *

Barely making it through the mud, my old, rickety, red pickup reaches Derek Hales house. Or what used to be left of it. A dark black, ash color coats the outer walls, sides of the paneling are falling off, and almost all the windows are boarded up. This place no longer looks like a home, more like a bad memory.

My driver's door squeals as I open it. If Derek is anywhere around, he knows I am here now. Hugging my arms together, I close the door with my hip. My large flannel is keeping my arms warm, but my black leggings aren't helping my legs. However, there were no thoughts about changing when I saw the picture of Derek on my tablet. I just grabbed my flannel, to put over my sizeable gray shirt and sprinted to my car. Stiles chased after me and went to Scott's. He believed I was heading there too, that I just needed to stop for gas.

"Did you not learn anything when Scott got attacked? These woods aren't safe." Derek's voice causes me to jump out of my skin. I hate how he appears out of nowhere.

As I spin around to face him, I almost colliding with his chest, getting a nose full of his woodsy scent. "It's also not safe to break into other people's house," I retort back, clenching my arms tighter. Derek is close enough to me that I feel his body heat radiating on to my skin.

"Scott needs to understand he is putting us both at risk." Derek's eyes scan my body for a second before he scuffs at me, "Do you ever wear weather appropriate clothing?"

Ignoring his comment, I roll my eyes. "Am I to believe you just broke into his house to have a friendly conversation with him?"

"No, I told him I would kill him if he played in the game this weekend." Derek walks past me, to the porch.

My jaw clenches shut at his words, a hot rage spreading through my chest. No one threatens my family. Even if his words are empty, which I think is the case. Derek is trying to scare Scott into listening to him, which won't happen. If anything, Derek's furthered my best friend's motive to play. When all odds say no, Scott says yes.

"I won't let you hurt Scott, _ever_. If you tried to kill him, you would have to take me down first."

In a second, Derek is back, pushing me against my car. His hands slam down onto my car, next to my face. Astounded by his speed, I find myself unable to move. "You think you could stop me? You don't stand a chance against a werewolf. You're only human, Stella!"

I put my hands on his chest, shoving him hard, but Derek doesn't budge. "And you think me being a human makes me any less willing to protect the people I care about? Human or not, if anyone I cared about were in danger, I would do anything in my power to save them."

"Do you have a death wish," his hand grabs my chin, forcing me to stare up at him, "or are you not understand what I am telling you? Your attitude is going to get you killed."

I reach my hand up, placing it on his facial scruff. Derek tenses under my touch, stiffening further when I get on my toes to put my lips right next to his ear. My warm breath hissing my next three words.

"So be it."

* * *

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter! Sorry, the holidays kept me busy for awhile, and I did not have time to post!**

 **A/N: Revised :)**


	5. Basic Instincts

Today has been infinite. It's one of those days where time moves slower. The second hand on the clock is ticking at a leisurely pace, taking double the usual time. It's annoying how time doesn't ever seem to side with anyone, always the enemy.

Friday is Beacon Hill's first lacrosse game. Every player is on edge because the first game of the season is where you prove your worth as a player, and winning helps Beacon Hill stay at the top spot of our coveted sport. Jackson, who just so happens to be my lab partner - man do I miss it being Isaac - spent all lab complaining about his shoulder injury affecting his playing time this game. According to the egotistical jock, we don't have a chance without his skills. Of course, I rolled my eyes when he made this claim. We can win with or without him.

When the bell rang, I was the first person out of the classroom. Jackson is a person who I can only handle in small doses. Walking towards my locker, I notice a couple of officers standing by the main office. Where there is more than one sheriff's deputy, there is usually my father. As if on cue, my dad strolls out of the room, whispering to the principal.

Clutching my books to my chest, I call my dad's name, painting an innocent smile on my face. Him being here means new information has arisen in the 'torn-in-half' girl's case. To convince Scott and Stiles it's not Derek, I am going to need either concrete evidence or another perp. Without it, my words will fall on deaf ears.

"Hey dad, sorry to interrupt! Everything okay?" I pull my father in for a hug as the principle ducks out of the conversation. Lately, I haven't seen much of my dad. He's been at the station around the clock; only coming home to get a few hours of sleep, and to check on Stiles and me. Other than that, he's giving one hundred percent to this case.

"Nothing to worry about, sweetheart. I just came to tell the principle of the curfew we are implementing. We don't need any kids running around late at night. You never know what trouble they may run into." Leaning his head on top of mine, he lets out a heavy sigh. "Not that I have to worry about that with you, right?"

I know he's hinting at Stiles and me to be on our best behaviors. He really does try his hardest to keep Stiles and me, his trouble causing kids, from doing what we do best. We are just relentless when it comes to sniffing out problems and becoming part of them.

"I promise to be on my best behavior," I pull away with a grin, "but, controlling Stiles may be hard."

"Will you do me a favor and remind your brother about the curfew? I already told him, but he tends to ignore those things when they come for me." Dad lets me go, smiling at my jest.

"Don't stress over it dad. This week will be all about lacrosse since the big game is on Friday."

My dad scrunches his face into a doubtful expression. "Sure Stella, whatever you say."

I wave my goodbyes just in time to see Scott beelining towards me. His eyes are narrowed in my direction, his hands clenched into fists. What is he rallied up about today? Hunters? Lacrosse? Other teenage boy problems? As long as it's not a new issue, I am content.

"You told Allison you were friends with Derek? And you let him drive the both of you home from the party?" Scott growls as he approaches.

His question catches me off guard. It's me who has him in a tizzy. This I did not see coming. I didn't expect Allison to tell Scott that. Not that it matters, but I saw no reason for that bit of information to be shared. We both got home safe and sound, so why dig up the past?

I mess up my words, not used to being confronted in this way by him. "That's not exactly what happened...I mean I was drunk, and Derek said we were friends. I didn't feel like disagreeing and explaining how we knew each other...so I went along with it?"

The end of my rebuttal come out as a question because I don't know how to word what happened in a way that won't agitate him further. It seems I am already treading on thin ice with him.

Scott's chest is huffing up and down. I grow nervous that he may wolf out right here in the hallway. Without drawing attention to the two of us, I scan the hall making sure no one is paying us any mind.

"I don't understand. Did I do something wrong?" In my defense, I was not aware Scott believed Derek was the one who bit – which I still don't think so - when I let Derek drive Allison home. Also, Scott is the one who left her without a ride. I understand why he's angry with me, but still.

"Do something wrong? You let Derek Hale give Allison and you a ride home. And, you didn't tell me about it! Stella, Derek's dangerous. You put Allison and yourself at risk!"

If for one second I thought Derek was a threat to my life, I would NOT have gotten in that car. Yes, I was drunk, but I wasn't incoherent. Derek posed no danger to Allison or me. He was trying to protect us from Scott.

"I mean I seem pretty alive to me." Shifting all my books into one arm, I lift up my other arm, in showing way. All I want is to lighten the mood, because angry Scott, isn't friendly. "Unless I am not, and I am in some alternative universe without knowing."

"Seriously, what were you thinking, Stella?"

Scott's shoulder collides with mine, making me flinch. I bite the inner corner of my bottom lip. I should have just apologized, instead of questioning him. At the same time, I didn't see a reason to say sorry. No one got hurt.

Fidgeting, trying to get comfortable holding all these heavy books in my arm, I decide I have had enough of school today. The near-perfect grades I have aren't going to drop drastically if I take the day off. So, that's precisely what I do.

* * *

"How did you get out of going to practice the last couple of days? Everyone one wants to know your 'trick'"

Isaac and I are laying on my bed, in opposite directions, with our heads laying next to each other. I am watching one of the blades of my ceiling fan circle around and around. The last couple days weren't spectacular. Scott and I are still at odds, and Stiles isn't choosing sides. Yet, runs off to hang out with him every chance he can. Usually, I let these debacles take their course, not changing my routine, but with all the nonsense going on, I decided to give Scott space.

"Trust me, you don't want to know what I told him to get out of practice," I convey, knowing he will still question me.

The covers under my head tug a little as Isaac turns his head to look at me. "Stella, just tell me."

I turn my head, giving him a you-asked-for-it look. He is going to regret asking, but if he thinks he needs to know, then I will just tell him. "I told him I was about to bleed heavily for seven days, along with having copious amounts of pain that will make me feel like I am repeatedly being stabbed. I then added in that for living through that every month I should be deemed a superhero. To that, his response was to point out of his office door and tell me not to show my face until next week."

Isaac rolls his baby-blue eyes at me, his facing turning sour. "You should have kept that to yourself."

I roll over, resting my elbows on my bed and letting my head sit on my hands. "I think I tried to do that, and then you insisted on knowing." Sarcasm drips from my words. Boys don't want to hear about mother nature coming, just as much as I wish she didn't have to.

Isaac goes back to looking at the ceiling. There are times Isaac drifts away into his own little world. His eyes will go blank, his face turning expressionless. It's sort of like he has transported his mind to another dimension. Curiosity always has me wondering where his mind goes, but it feels like a deeply personal question to ask him. Everyone has a safe place their mind wanders off to when they think about things they don't want to share with others.

"What do you do when you find yourself in a situation you and the people you love don't exactly agree on?" I say, ending the peaceful silence.

"I am going to need more details than that." Isaac's orbs peer up at me. He shifts so that his elbow is propping up his head. The sleeve of his lacrosse sweatshirt falling to his elbow.

I pick at some loose strings on my gray comforter, pulling strings till they break off. I don't like being estranged from the people who make me laugh, never let me down, and make my days better. It's an empty feeling.

"Let's just say you did something your best friend disagreed with. However, when the said friend approaches you about it, you have a hard time apprehending why what you did was an issue." I let one of my arms drop, mimicking how Isaac is laying.

Isaac has been my saving grace since Stiles and Scott have been avoiding me. Almost every day after practice he has come over and hung out with me. Isaac has no preference to if we do homework, watch movies, or just lay on my bed and talk. I could have dragged Isaac to the comic store with me every day, and he would still come back the next day. He's the poster kid for the saying 'I am there for you whenever you need me'.

"When Scott asked about it did you make one of your unnecessary, quirky comments?" Isaac knows me too well. Either that or I am a too predictable. I deflate back into my bed, half of my face pressed against my comforter.

"That's a yes. Stella, this won't last," Isaac assures me with a light-hearted laugh, "You guys are weirdly close." I love Isaac's laugh. I love when Isaac is upbeat in general. It's rare and refreshing.

"I know, it's just frustrating. Thanks for being the best friend ever, and putting up with me for the last couple of days." I consider tackling Isaac into a hug, just to be annoying and arise more laughter out of him, but my eyes catch sight of something. On the arm holding his head up, I notice a blueish/black bruise. Inches below the significant injury, there are smaller ones that look like the size of fingers.

"Dear lord, what happened to your arm?" I sit up, going to reach for his arm. Those weren't there a couple of days ago.

Isaac's face drops, all happiness drains from him. He pulls down the sleeve of his sweatshirt that he had previously had scrunched up to his elbow. Avoiding eye contact with me, he sits trying to make it seem as if he's checking his phone. "I don't want to talk about it. I got into it with one of the lacrosse guys. He checked me in the head with his stick purposely."

"That's ridiculous Isaac, no one should grab you hard enough to leave bruises in the shape of fingerprints. Did you tell Coach?"

"Stella it happened in the locker room, and I am done talking about it," Isaac stands up, "I have to leave, my dad wants me home." His voice is serious, and it stings a little.

Isaac keys jingle as he picks them up off my nightstand. Within in seconds he collects his things and starts heading out my bedroom door. Right as he goes to leave he looks back at me. I have moved up on my bed, to where I am not sitting with my back against my headboard, knees pulled to my chest.

"You know Scott and Stiles love you. They will come around." The softness of his words comforts me. Our eyes meet, and there is something about the way Isaac is looking at me. It's like he is trying to convey a message, but in a way, I don't fathom.

When he leaves I lean my head back, closing my eyes, and find my mind roaming to a place it feels at peace.

* * *

The sheriff's deputies welcome me in as I make my way to my father's office. Sitting at home all day became boring, so I decided to bring my dad a much-needed coffee. We are both feigns for the stuff. Though, dad will deny it when I tell him so.

I wave to Deputy Graeme. I know you shouldn't pick favorites, but she's my favorite deputy in the office. Deputy Graeme, also known as Tara, will keep me company if for any reason I find myself roaming around the sheriff's station. She helps me with homework, talks to me about boys, and plays cards with me. Since she joined the force, she's been like a cousin to me.

"Head's up, Stella, it has been a busy morning." Tara glances up from her document filled desk, pausing on the paperwork she is filling out.

I readjust my dark brown shoulder bag, clutching on to it with my free hand. "One through ten?"

"I don't even have to think about this one, a solid 8." She gives me I-wouldn't-go-in-there look, but it's not stopping me. I'm his daughter, it's my duty to go in there to make sure he's okay.

Walking into the doorway of his office, I lean my body against the door frame. My father's hand is resting on top of his head, his eyes glued to the family portrait stationed on his desk. It's the last photo we took with my mother, the last one where she's healthy. Gulping down the growing lump in my throat, I prepare myself to appear as cheery as one can be.

"You look like you need coffee," I state, taking a seat in the chair opposite to him, "and I, your favorite daughter, brought you some."

Dad clasps his hand together, forcing the corners of his lip up into a smile. Any one person could tell you he's stressed beyond belief. His worry lines are more prominent on his forehead, the bags under his eyes are a becoming a purplish color, and his eyelids are barely open. An unsolved case is daunting. It eats away at him the longer it goes unresolved.

"Thank you, Stella. I really needed this, " he sighs.

"Anything for you," I hand him the hot drink, "Hey, you will solve this case. It might be different from your usual, but that doesn't change the fact you are good at what you do."

My phone interrupts his response, and he suggests I answer it. I say to my dad that I will be right back when I see it's Stiles's image on my screen. The deputies' office is abuzz with phone's ringing and officers talking to one another. Too much noise for me. Spotting a door close by, I walk through it, trying to obtain a quiet place to discuss. I probably should pay attention to where it leads to, but I don't have time for that.

"Stiles, good of you to finally start talking to me again," I say, with a sarcastic undertone as I answer his call.

"Stella, I need your help!" Stiles ignores my comment, sounding panicked. Taking a deep breath, I remind myself to not freak out just because Stiles is, one of us needs to be calm. Plus, Stiles does tend to overact.

"What's wrong? Where are you?"

"I am in the car, but that doesn't matter. Scott is missing! I accidentally brought wolfsbane I found in the car, and it caused Scott to freak out. He started transitioning right next to me!"

"You did what?!"

Close by, someone clears their throat. Spinning on my heel, towards the noise, I realize I am in the little hallway separating the office from the holding cells. I lower my voice, not wanting to disturb whoever is locked up, "Stiles, slow down and explain to me exactly what's going on?"

Unable to restrain my curiosity, I take a peek at who is in the holding cell. They may be linked to the 'turn in the case' my father told me about. Staring right at me, from the metal bench in the holding cell, is none other than Derek Hale. Slapping my hand over my mouth to prevent myself from saying something out loud, I drop my cell phone.

I curse myself silently, wasting no time in squatting down to pick up my cell. Stiles is already shouting my name on the phone. "Stiles...what did Scott and you do?"

Even though I can't see Derek anymore, I can feel his stare through the metal door. With every move I make, his eyes follow. It's unnerving, and it's causing the tiny hairs on my arms to raise.

"Uh...Nothing? Why?" Stiles asks, not sound too sure of himself.

Scott and Stiles did something that led to them needing my help, and Derek is sitting behind bars. I am betting money these things aren't coincidental.

"Oh, I don't know, because I am currently hiding behind a door, where on the other side is Derek Hale. And he just so happens to be in a holding cell," I hiss, trying to remain quiet.

"Ohh...umm...it's a long story. Just stay away from him. Get to the lacrosse game as soon as you can. I have a feeling Scott's heading there." Stiles hangs up on me, so I can't argue with him.

I fumble with the phone, annoyed that Stiles hung up on me. Derek may have answers to what's going on, so I am going to disregard Stiles's warning to stay away from him. Plus, he knows I am behind the door, he saw me already.

Opening the door, I wear a toothless smile. "Before you say anything, you should know I had nothing to do with whatever got you arrested. I am sure Stiles and Scott are sorry for their part in it."

Derek pushes himself off the bench, walking to the bars. "Don't let Scott play in the game tonight, Stella. He's a danger to himself and anyone who gets close to him."

Drawing closer to him, I sense the urgency in his voice. His threat from the other night didn't work, and now he's pleading with me to stop my best friend from playing. Derek's has a lifetime of experiences in the werewolf department. I should be riddled with concern, running out of the station to stop Scott. But, I am not.

"I trust Scott. He's aware of the risks. Stiles has been hounding him since day one. It may sound naive to you, but if Scott trusts his instincts, I do too," my words hold true to my voice. Scott has my trust, werewolf or not.

I curl my fingers around the cold, dirty bars. The sight of Derek behind bar irks me, it's not right. He's innocent. Inches from Derek's face, I find myself studying his features: his perfect cheekbones, the stubble on his cheeks from not shaving in a day or two, and the way his eyes are darker green but get lighter green as they reach the pupil.

Derek walks away from the bars, running his hands through his dark black hair. "How many times do I have to tell you, you have no idea what he's capable of? When is it going to sink, huh? When he kills someone?"

Staying silent, I shake my head. Nothing, nothing will convince me Scott is dangerous. Sure he is a beast now, but there's no way this condition made his mind do a complete one-eighty. We've been friends for over a decade, and not once has he hurt someone.

"Don't be stupid, Stella. Go to the game and stop him from playing," Derek continues, "He's a newly turned beta, they can't control themselves. Believe me, I know."

Biting my bottom lip, I play a game of tug of war in my mind. Do I listen to Derek? Or do I give Scott the benefit of the doubt?

* * *

 **A/N: Revised**

Cassie-011: Thanks for always commenting! I appreciate your kind words :)


	6. The First Game

I arrive at the lacrosse field with minutes to spare. Thankfully I had all the things I need for the boy's lacrosse game in a bag in my trunk. There's my unique jersey with Stiles's number on the front and Scott's on the back, my cheek stickers of Isaac's number, and all my assistant coaching things. Choosing to wear only one of my favorite player's numbers felt wrong. Sometimes, if Danny asks nicely, I have his number on the other cheek. People look at me peculiarly with four different numbers on me, but it's worth it if the boys feel my support.

Jogging towards the bench, I run into someone coming out from beneath the bleachers. As I start mumbling an apology, I glance up to see Scott's puppy-dog brown eyes staring down at me. Cutting myself off midsentence, I throw my arms around his neck, nestling my face into his shoulder blade.

Without hesitation, Scott's arms wrap around my back, pulling me closer. We bicker like siblings, and we make up like them too. One hug resolves the whole fight because at the end of the day we love each other, faults and all. No petty argument can put a dent in our bond.

"Please don't tell me not to play," he pleads, his voice soft in my ear, "If I don't try – If I just give up lacrosse and everything that causes my heart rate to go up, then when will I learn control? Stella, I want to live a normal life."

He sounds exhausted, tired of arguing with people on whether he has control or not. No one has given him a chance. Derek told him if he played he would kill him. Stiles expressed his concerns about Scott turning into a werewolf on the field. And I have been too busy giving him space I thought he needed. None of us have made his transition any more comfortable for him.

I pull back from our embrace, leaving my hands on his shoulders. "Scott McCall, when it comes to you I have no doubts. If you think you can play in this game with no incidents, then I believe it too. I have faith in you Scott. You are Steve Rogers, and I am Bucky Barnes."

"What does that even mean, Stella?" Scott laughs, shaking his head at me.

"It means we stick together, no matter what." I give Scott a small shove, smirking mischievously. "Now get out there and kick our opposing team's ass."

* * *

Stiles takes a seat next to me on the bench, as I flip through the plays. "Stella, uh I think I should-"

I place my palm over Stiles's face, preventing him from interrupting what I am about to say. "Don't say you are sorry. Just promise that you will keep me in the loop from now on, and catch me up on what you two goofballs have been running around doing."

"Yeah absolutely," he mumbles, with my hand still on his face. Rolling my eyes at him, I let a small laugh fall from my lips. Staying annoyed with Stiles is impossible. Sooner or later he does something to make me laugh, and any annoyance I am carrying around suddenly disappears.

Moments later a hand grips my shoulder, a friendly voice accompanying it. "Hey, you two!"

Leaning my head back, I smile at my father, happy he was able to put the case on pause for a moment. Even cops need a breather every once in a while. He can't be on duty all the time, though he tries.

"So Stiles, you think you will see any action tonight?" Dad questions, a tinge of hope in his voice.

Stiles and I glance at each other, the both of us mentally crossing our fingers the only action we see tonight is lacrosse related. Of course, our father is genuinely asking if Stiles will get any playing time because he has no earthly clue we live amongst the supernatural.

"Uhh... action? Maybe," Stiles mumbles, avoiding our father's eyes.

The referee blows his whistle, signaling for the boys get into position. "I have to join Coach. See you two after the game."

Walking over to Coach, I see Scott scanning the crowd. You would think the whole school showed up by the number of people sitting on the bleachers. Scott's mom got her shift at the hospital cover to see the game. My dad finished work early enough that he could attend. Allison and Lydia are dressed warmly in the stands sitting by a man who is all too familiar, Chris Argent. We haven't officially met, but I have seen him pick up Allison a couple times.

The game begins, and when we are a couple plays in, I notice a pattern. The boys are purposely not passing to Scott. He's wide open, and instead of getting him the ball, his teammates are losing the ball by giving to people who are heavily guarded.

In the second quarter, Scott goes for a ground ball, and Jackson shoves him out of the way to get it himself. By this time, I have had enough of the boy's charade. They are risking the first win of the season! Who do they think they are?

"What the hell is this?! Jackson, Scott is on your team!" I scream heatedly, putting my hands in the air.

Scott pushes himself off the ground, glaring at something behind me. Peering over my shoulder, I search the crowd for what's bothering him. It's hard to miss the ginormous sign Lydia and Allison are holding. The words 'We Luv U Jackson" are written on it in black and red.

Is everyone going to crap on my best friend today? Hasn't he had a hard enough beginning to school?

Stiles looks my way, mouthing the word brutal. In reply I hang my head, reassuring myself everything will turn out fine. Gazing back towards the field, I throw my clipboard to the ground furiously. We are two points down, and these idiots are still ignoring Scott's presence on the field.

Jackson, Danny, Greenberg and two other players begin grouping up on the field. The same players who are making sure Scott isn't getting the ball. Deciding something needs to be done, I stomp onto the field, ignoring the protests I get from the referee and Coach.

"What the hell are you guys doing?" I shout at the boys, as I reach their little huddle.

Jackson looks at me with a clenched jaw, not saying a word, his stare going from each guy in the circle, silently demanding they stay silent. Danny avoids eyes contact with me, shuffling in his spot. None of the boys bother to speak up, too afraid of the lacrosse captain's threat.

I grab Jackson and Danny by the helmets, pulling them forward. "If we lose this game because you and your little friends won't pass to Scott. I will personally make sure all of you run suicides until you puke."

Jackson rips my hands off his helmet, storming away. He apparently does not take kindly to threats. I remove my hands from Danny's helmet, shaking my head in disappointment. Out of everyone on the team, I least excepted this behavior from Danny. He's such a stand-up guy, and I thought we were friends.

"Stella, I am sorry," Danny shouts after me.

I don't bother replying. Words are only letters strung together if you don't put actions to them. Danny could have not gone along with the plan implemented by Jackson.

"Stella! What was that?" Coach yells as I reach him, his hands on his hip. "You can't just interrupt a lacrosse game!"

"It was me making sure we win." He shifts his head side to side, weighing my excuse. Narrowing his eyes, he mutters that my little speech better work.

A low growl distracts me from the rest of Coach's rant. Only one person can make a noise that sounds animalistic, Scott McCall. His breath is heavy in the air, coming out in a cloud in the cold night air. Eyes locked on the grass under his cleats, he is trying to contain his shifting.

Stiles appears next to me, "Tell me you see what's happening too."

Yes," I tell him, eyeing our best friend warily.

"Should we do something?"

"Not yet, I am convinced he can pull himself together."

The whistle blows and the ball spikes into the air. Scott darts for the ball. When another player gets in his way, he jumps over the guy, and with a perfect landing continues to sprint towards the ball. He scoops it up just in time.

"Oh shit." "Now that's the Scott I was hoping to see on the field." Stiles and I voice at the same time.

Scott weaves through the opposing team, not letting anyone get in his way. Cheers erupt from the crowd as he outruns every player around him. Seconds later, Scott makes a goal.

"Go, Scott! Yesss!" I jump up and down, showing no restraint. That's my boy, that's my brother from another mother. Take that Lydia's sign! Stiles smacks my hand in a high five.

Coach starts walking down the field, yelling at our team. "McCall, pass to McCall." Stiles follows coach screaming his support.

I stay where I am, looking directly at Jackson. A small smirk creeps onto my lips. The bad guys never win in the end. Hasn't he ever seen a superhero movie? Villains may win battles here in there, but they lose the war.

Next play begins, and an opposing team member ends up throwing the ball to Scott. My mouth parts in shock. Rubbing my eyes, I wonder if they just played a trick on me. No way it really happened.

Coach pokes me on the shoulder. "Did the opposing team just deliberately pass us the ball?"

I blink in awe of the act, utterly speechless.

"Yes, I believe so Coach," Stiles answers for me, returning back at my side.

Scott gets to the goal, throwing the ball as hard as he can. The ball busts a hole straight through the goalies netting on his stick, making it into the goal. We now have a tied game!

I hear Stiles and Coach arguing with the referee about if that is a goal or not, but my attention is on Scott. He's staring straight at me. His eyes a musty yellow color, his canine teeth enlarged, and he looks infuriated. Swallowing thickly, I fight the urge to run to him, to shield him from the crowd, but I don't move. I am not afraid; no I am in awe of his werewolf form. One thing does bother me, however. Scott's eyes are yellow, but Derek's are neon blue. Why?

Breaking from my trance, I reach over to grab hold of Stiles's jersey. "Stiles, look at Scott."

"Oh no, Scott. No, no, no!" I can almost hear my brother's heart beating eighty miles per minutes as he starts to panic.

"Stiles, we need him off the field. Right now," I insist, putting my hand to my heart. We have less than ten seconds in the game. What would happen if all these people saw him turn? Allison's father is here. He could kill Scott.

No. No, it won't happen. Scott's going to overcome his transition, gain control of himself.

The last whistle blows and seconds later Scott gets the ball. Two players go running after him, and in the niche of time, he throws the ball right into the goal. The final whistle sounds and everyone rushes the field. We won. Beacon Hills High School just won the first game of the season.

"Stiles, we have to find Scott," I urge, trying to see through the new wave of people sprinting on the field.

"I'm on it!" Stiles runs into the crowd. I follow, but stop when I see Allison nearby, most likely searching for Scott.

"Great game, huh?" I yell over the crowd, as I approach her.

Allison's smiles at me, pulling me in for a hug. "Scott did amazing! Do you know where he went?"

Parting my lips to make up an excuse, I get cut off by a man's voice, coming from behind me. "Allison, you ready to go?"

I find myself stiffening, recognizing who it is, Mr. Argent. An uneasy feeling flows through my bloodstream, wakening my anxiety. Allison's father is a potential threat to Scott, and being near him is hard. I don't want to say or do anything suspicious. I am known to blurt out unnecessary things at the wrong moments. I have to bite my lower lip to keep myself from speaking.

"Actually, I am going to find Scott. Be right back?" Allison looks to her dad for approval, and he nods. "This is Stella Stilinksi, by the way, Stiles's twin sister."

Allison's dad steps in front of me, holding his hand out to shake. "Nice to meet you, Stella."

I want to run after Allison, to stop her. But, all I can do it look up at Mr. Argent. His blue eyes study me as if he is trying to tell if I am a werewolf. There are black gloves on his hands that match his black jacket. At first glance, the word 'hitman' comes to mind.

"Oh uh, happy to meet you too, Mr. Argent." I make sure to firmly shake his hand. In my mind, I am searching for a reason to walk away. Spotting Stiles walking towards my dad give me the perfect excuse. If he couldn't find Scott, he may need my help.

"I should go check on my brother and dad. See you around, I am sure." I dart away from Mr. Argent, in a hurry to be out of his sight.

My dad is pacing in the bleachers. His facial expression is the one he usually wears when on the phone with someone from work. He's trying to contain his aggravation, but it shines through.

"Dad, what's going on?" I ask as he stuffs his phone in his pocket.

"The human hair the medical examiner found on the second half of the girl's body wasn't so human. The medical examiner has now determined the killer to be a wolf, not a person. The DNA on the girl also came back. Her name is Laura Hale."

I feel Stiles roughly grab my wrist, and my stomach does a somersault at the sound of that name. The body Stiles, Scott, and I had gone into the woods to find was Laura Hale, Derek's sister. Derek, who Stiles and Scott had claimed to be the murderer. Stiles and Scott truly messed up.

Dad's follow up sentence causes Stiles's eye to widen in terror.

"Derek Hale was just released."

* * *

I enter my empty house, for once thankful that neither my father or Stiles is home. Stiles decided it was best to stay with Scott, just in case. They are frightened Derek may have some not so nice things to say to them. Which they kind of deserve. Seeing as I had no part in putting Derek Hale behind bars, I saw no reason I shouldn't be able to come home and take a warm shower.

I peel off my shirt as I walk up the stairs, throwing it on my bed when I enter. Turning straight into the bathroom, my bra comes off next. Going through the door that separates the mirror and vanity from the toilet, I undress the rest of myself and hop into the shower.

On the car ride here Scott and Stiles explained the trouble they got themselves into the last couple of days: trespassing, digging up dead bodies, and such. Dead bodies don't bother me, but I am glad I wasn't around when they discovered Derek's sister. For some reason, the thought makes me sick.

Scott also informed me that when he got to the locker room, where he ran after the game was over, he was able to control his urge to change. Just like that, he was able to stay human. I knew he had it in him.

He also kissed Allison. He got the girl, controlled his fury, and helped win the game. Three wins in one night.

Getting out of the shower, I put my long Captain America shirt on. I keep a couple long nightshirts in the cabinet above the toilet, so I have something to just throw on when I get out of the shower. Stifling a yawn, I walk into my room. This girl could use a goodnight's rest.

A dark silhouette standing by my open window stops me in my tracks. If wasn't so exhausted I may have screamed from the shock, but I quickly recognize the man lurking in my bedroom. Honestly, no one else would use my window over the front door.

"Tell me you weren't there when I came in taking off my clothes!" I chuck my wet, bundled up towel at Derek Hale's head, which he catches with no problem. "Why don't you understand the concept of knocking on people's door. Or maybe using them instead of windows!"

Derek's not phased by my yelling. He lets the towel drop to the floor, and his gaze stays on me. My annoyance melts into embarrassment as I remember the t-shirt I am wearing barely comes down to my knees. I am half-naked, standing feet away from Derek Hale. Heat rises in my cheeks.

"What happened to not letting Scott play tonight?" Derek crosses his arms across his black v-neck, giving me a disgruntled glare. I can tell he tries to contain himself, but he can't help but let his eyes travel up and down my body.

"You break into my house, possibly see me partially naked, and all you have to say is that I let Scott play?" I blurt out.

"He could have killed someone!"

"I told him if he believed he could play, then he should play. Unlike you, I trusted him!"

"Trusted him? You can't trust him, he's a brand new Beta! He has no idea how to control his urge to kill. If he had turned tonight, and you had tried to handle the situation, because you are naïve enough to think you could, Scott would have torn you apart limb by limb," Derek storms over to me, "You would be dead right now!"

Derek get's so close that I back into the wall trying to step away from him. The heat from his breath skims across my cheek. "I..I..you don't know him like I do." His closeness has me tripping over myself unable to speak correctly.

"The werewolf part of him doesn't care that you two grew up together." Derek puts his fingers on my chin, lifting my face, so I am looking precisely into his eyes.

With him so close, I find myself aware of everything. I can feel my wet hair dripping onto my shirt, soaking it. The smell of forest tickles my nose. I bite the inside of my cheek, really trying to not blurt something stupid. Why can't I pull myself together when I am around him?

"You're not giving him a chance," I press my hands to his chest, trying to gather up my wits, "All you do is tell me how much of a danger he is, and threaten to put him down if he screws up. Maybe you should help instead of hinder him!"

"Scott doesn't want my help."

"Who cares if he doesn't want it? He needs it! Be the bigger person Derek, help Scott."

"If I help him, you have to promise to listen to me, and stop putting yourself in potential danger."

"I follow my instincts, not peoples commands, Derek. I can protect myself!"

"That's where you're wrong!" Derek's fist bangs a hole in my wall, inches from my head.

Sediments of the wall flutter in the air between us. I don't shutter, grimace, or do anything except stare at the frustrated werewolf. Realizing what he's done, Derek distances himself from me, running his hands through his hair.

"Derek, I am tired of having this fight with you. I can't promise something like that. I will always protect the people in my life at all costs. You know this."

Derek turns back to me, his lips pressed into a hard line. "If Scott want's my help, he knows where to find me. As for you –" He strides back to me, stops inches from where I am still pressed against the wall. "I will have to protect you, because I am not letting the Alpha make you one of his next victims."

* * *

 **A/N: Not one of my favorite chapters, but it's revised and after this things take off!**


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